


Fractal

by Macx



Series: Synergy [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Background Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck Hansen lost his mother at an early age. His uncle is a persona non grata. He has no other family than his father.<br/>Chuck has lost fellow pilots to the Kaijus.<br/>He has seen death.<br/>It doesn't prepare him for the moment when his father is seriously injured in a senseless accident in the Jaeger bay. It doesn't prepare him for the emotional tidal wave breaking through. It tears down his walls, leaves him vulnerable, biting at everyone who tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about the long wait, everyone! Not only did I go on a three-week-long vacation, no, a week into that vacation my laptop froze and died on me. The helpful computer staff at Staples in Whitehorse worked a miracle and recovered my personal documents on my harddrive, transferring them to an external one, which was then my most prized possession for the rest of my trip. I lost everything else, though. I'm not even sure how many website links I can't remember. Yes, I backed up all documents before my trip, but I had already written a lot of stuff for Fractal in that first week and that would have been completely lost.  
> Alas, it didn't happen. Now I have a new laptop, which I have to get used to (Windows 8! Ack!), but writing is still the same.
> 
> So there you have it, the explanation why it took me so long :)
> 
> Thanks to Ally for supplying me with so much material on Chuck and Herc, for endless discussions on their relationship and our take on it. I know she's currently bouncing to read the fic she helped my braincell inspire.
> 
> And as always thanks to Fangirl1138, who gets first dibs at reading over what I write and helping out on the grammar/plot front.

Fractal   
originally: from the French or Latin, meaning broken or to break.  
mathematically: a never-ending pattern

 

The noise was that of a thunder blast.

Like a massive explosion without a fire.

A loud, eardrum shattering sound that had everyone stop whatever they were doing, freeze, adrenaline spiking.

The crash came from deep within the empty holding bays, followed by an ominous creak, then a thundering rumble.

Metal screamed under duress.

Something snapped.

People yelled.

Then the alarms blared, echoing through the cavernous Jaeger bay.

Men and women in workers’ gear started running toward the site of the accident.

 

* * *

 

“… uncontrolled bleeding…”

…

 

“Blood pressure is falling!”

…

 

“We’re losing him!”

…

 

“Heart’s dropping!”

…

 

“Clamp that leak!”

…

 

“Prep’s ready.”

…

 

“Move, people!”

 

* * *

 

“Marshall Bond.”

“Deputy, actually, not that it matters right now. How is he?”

"He dropped a lung and it was touch and go for a while. We almost lost him. We stabilized him and he is responding to all the fluids we are pumping into him. The next twenty-four hours will be critical.”

 

* * *

 

The room wasn’t the usual sterile white of a hospital. It was far from a normal hospital anyway. The infirmary of a Shatterdome was set up like everything: efficiently. No great fuss about color schemes and warm, fuzzy feelings. It was functional and did its job.

So the walls were white-washed, with the added architectural feature of no windows, a gunmetal gray ceiling, a floor of the same color, and a small, rather military looking bathroom with just the essentials. All steel gray. The doors were more like hatches and the instruments in the intensive care units looked almost crude in their arrangement.

Not that it mattered to anyone in here.

Not that it mattered to the visitors.

Or the caretakers.

The Shatterdome was a military unit, not a private hospital. There was no gift shop with flowers or stuffed animals for sale. There wasn’t a visitors’ lounge or a maternity ward, let alone a child care center. It was a functional place.

It was what was needed.

It had also seen its fair share of patients, young and old, male or female. All of them were part of this Shatterdome. Technicians, mechanics, engineers, pilots.

Now one of them was here, in critical condition.

 

*

 

There was blood.

Dried little flakes on grayish pale skin.

Blood that hadn’t been cleaned off after surgery, that clung to the skin.

It was only a trace amount, but it was blood. He could see it. He could imagine what was underneath the sterile bandages that protected surgical incisions, lacerations, scrapes and bruises from the prying eye. From infection.

Chuck Hansen knew he owed a lot of people an apology.

Starting with Raleigh Becket.

Raleigh who was…

Chuck faltered. What was Raleigh to him? Was there even a definition? What was it between them that had slowly but surely developed in the past months? What was he to Raleigh and what was Raleigh to him? He had never been one for emotional introspection.

Heck, he usually didn’t do any kind of that shit, but here he was, with too much time on his hands, looking at the motionless form of his father in a hospital bed, machines keeping track of his every breath, and his mind had started to wander aimlessly.

He often drew a blank. It was as if he had stumbled into a dead end alley, staring at a wall, and there was nothing. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, just stared at this fucking huge wall and his mind was a blank slate.

Chuck dragged himself out of that state after a while, trying really hard, but whenever his eyes fell on the bandages, on the tube breathing for his father, on the blood, he went into another dive.

Disjointed thoughts bounced around his close to paralyzed mind. Memories of the last twelve hours.

Rage.

Disbelief.

Anger.

Pain.

Such fury…

He had laid into Raleigh like that very first time they had met; barbed words, hurtful and cutting and meant to push the older man away. Chuck hadn’t wanted him close, hadn’t wanted him to see… see him, Chuck Hansen, best pilot ever, this way.

Broken.

Close to losing it.

Crying.

Because yes, he had cried. Much to his chagrin and embarrassment, in the early morning hours, sitting in the dark and looking at his father, he had cried. Dry sobs, no tears, the crushing pain in his chest like a vice clamped around every thought.

And he had longed for a reassuring voice, deep and with that familiar rumble, telling him things would be alright.

It was a memory deep inside him, from the time he had cried over his mother, for his mother, and the strong arms around him, keeping him safe.

Herc was his only parent left. He was the only family left.

The only one that counted anyway.

Chuck hadn’t heard of Scott Hansen, his father’s older brother, ever since his uncle had been dishonorably dismissed from the PPDC. There had been rumors, but never a reason given, a statement typed down anywhere. And until the first Drift with his father, Chuck hadn’t known why the Drift between the two brothers had ended so badly.

Now he knew and back then it had shocked him to the core. Even today he didn’t really want to think about what his uncle had done, didn’t want to be associated with Scott Hansen.

His father had simply looked at him, the truth in his eyes, in his mind, and they had never breached the subject again.

There had been no one else in Chuck’s life since then. His father had been the strong point for him to rely on, the one person to turn to, and the one person to hate for letting his mother die.

It had been the cause of friction between them in the months after Angela Hansen’s death, but Chuck had come around. He had been twelve, had hated the world, the Kaijus, his father, everyone. He had wanted his mother back.

His mother, who had sacrificed herself for her child.

His mother, who had told her husband to go and get their son, not to drive into Sydney to find her. So Chuck could live.

The dull ache came back and fought the emotional pain it brought.

Angela Hansen’s death was stated as ‘by Kaiju’, but in the past years, with the war, Chuck had come to understand that she had probably perished in the nuclear strike that had taken out the monster – and had taken so many human lives, too.

Guilt had been his constant companion in those early months. It had been so easy to turn it into hatred against the one he had blamed for not saving them both.

Chuck screwed his eyes shut, hating his brain. Dredging up those old emotions, those still not entirely healed scars. It hurt so much to think of this part of his past. It was emotional agony to remember his mother’s face from their time together. It hurt even more to remember the agony clearly written on his father’s face.

As a twelve-year-old he had refused to see Herc as anything or anyone but the one to lay blame on. He had refused to see the pain, the fraying control, the mourning.

Until the day he had walked into the room and seen his father cry.

Chuck wasn’t sure if Herc had known his young son was there, but probably not.

Not until years later, in their first Drift.

Chuck had stared at the man sitting on the bed, a picture of Angela in his hands, tears tracking down his narrow features, and whispering apologies.

It had been the moment something had broken inside the then thirteen year old boy. It had been the moment he had promised himself, and his mother, to be the damned best pilot to ever jockey a Jaeger.

He would make his father proud.

He would avenge his mother.

Now he might just lose his dad.

Chuck looked at the still form, took in the bandages wrapped around Herc’s chest and his left arm. One eye had been covered by a taped bandage. There were bruises blossoming around it, staining the naturally pale skin, in sharp contrast to the ginger stubble.

He looked silent, too still, too…

Chuck swallowed and his fingers unconsciously wrapped around the cool, limp digits of his father’s good hand.

He felt alone. Lost and alone and so at a loss as to how to deal with this.

Raleigh had tried to be there for him, but he had driven him away. He had nearly bitten the man’s head off. It was what he was good at.

He and his fast mouth.

His only defense early on against much older and larger boys at the Academy. His only defense to keep personal things inside, to not let anyone close.

Aside from Herc.

Chuck had unknowingly clung to his sole surviving parent, had done everything to make his old man proud, and he had worked his ass off to be the damned best pilot.

To be worthy.

To get a Jaeger, to show the Kaiju that humanity wouldn’t just roll over and die.

And he hadn’t accepted anyone as his Drift partner who didn’t meet his standards.

Chuck knew he had driven the trainers insane, had had countless sessions with a psychologist, until the day Striker Eureka had been launched.

And his father had Drifted with him.

Because their Kwoon session had been a thing of beauty.

Chuck had known from the very first moment, when they had matched and mirrored, that no one else would ever be able to get this close to him.

Their Drift had been a revelation and a closure in one. The neural bridge had joined their minds, had opened them to each other, and for the very first time since Angela Hansen’s death, they had talked. Really talked, even if it was through the Pons.

Chuck would never forget his father’s expression, the tears in the older Hansen’s eyes, and he would never be able to erase his own reaction to it. That night, both men had gone out for a beer, barely talking and still saying so much.

People muttered that the Hansens didn’t get along outside the Drift, that they only ever talked when connected, and maybe that was true, but Chuck didn’t need more. The Drift was as personal and intimate as it came. Everything else was like a muted, incomplete version, a bad copy, packed in cotton wool and barely even scratching the surface.

Sure, they talked. They had shared quarters for six damned years!

It was simply a fact that the Drift was… so much more.

Raleigh had understood. He and Yancy had been the same. All pilots understood, Chuck mused. The Kaidanovskys… husband and wife, never ones to be chatty, and still so very much in sync. The Drift was nothing an outsider could imagine.

He gently massaged his father’s hand, needing the contact, needing to bring warmth back into the cool skin.

Touch was a rare form of communication for them. They didn’t touch like that, aside from Herc holding back his son before he did something stupid.

 

 

It was close to three a.m. and no one had kicked him out.

Chuck wanted to see them try. He would be back, fighting everyone, and they knew it.

James Bond had taken over as Marshall for now. He had been Herc’s second for a long time, sliding into that position seamlessly, and Chuck knew the Shatterdome would keep running efficiently. He had also told everyone to give Chuck room.

As if the young Ranger wasn’t able to get himself that room all on his own. He grimaced at that thought. He had already alienated everyone.

Like Raleigh.

It was painful to think of that moment, looking into the blue eyes, so filled with compassion and the need to be there. Chuck had been close to getting physical. He had wanted to hit Raleigh, had wanted to bury his fist somewhere, even in a wall, and he had snarled at the other to keep the fuck away.

It was how his father had felt when his wife had died.

The memory was very clear in Chuck’s head.

Herc had fought everyone, every little shred of compassion and help, and he had focused on his only child. A child who had accused him of killing his own wife by leaving her behind.

Now Chuck was feeling the same way, those old Ghosts, and he felt his own helplessness.

“You can’t die,” he told the still figure.

His voice sounded rough, hoarse, and it was wavering with the tears he felt well up in his eyes.

Shit, he was about to cry again!

Fuck!

Chuck angrily wiped at his face, fingers coming away wet, and he drew a shuddering breath.

It had been such a stupid, senseless accident!

Six fucking years of fighting Kaijus and the worst Herc had come away with, aside from a few bumps and bruises, had been a broken arm just before Operation Pitfall. It had been a shock back then to Chuck, to see his father hurt, to know they were sitting in a dead Jaeger, a Kaiju outside, and they would die like this.

Helpless.

It was how he had felt.

And Herc had been so bloody angry, at himself, at everything. He had refused help, had torn away from his son, and Chuck had been…

Helpless.

Like now.

The emotional tidal wave grew larger, threatening to become a tsunami of uncontrolled dimensions, and he bowed his head over the limp hand, fighting back a sob.

He had to be strong.

He was alone.

_You can’t die_ , he thought again and again. You’re all I have left.

Ghosts, still there after such a long time of not Drifting with the man, lingered, mingling with those left behind by Raleigh.

Raleigh.

_You have him. He’s there for you. He would be right at your side if you weren’t such an arse!_

Chuck knew all that. His inner little voice didn’t have to tell him. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn to anyone, even the man he had no idea what to call. He wasn’t some swooning teen, drawing hearts around the name, thinking of Becket as his boyfriend. They were… not fuck-buddies. It was more. Raleigh was a lot more.

Chuck had known it when they had Drifted for real that very first time. He had seen it, felt it, had been there for the whole show, and he knew Raleigh was serious about it.

Before that he had barely dared to hope for more, to believe in them. Yes, he had let Raleigh close; closer than anyone before. Well, anyone but his father. He had had women hanging off his arms, he had had bed companions, both male and female.

He had never opened up.

Raleigh had found a way in.

He was a persistent little fuck and he was… good. Damaged and broken himself, but good for Chuck. He had made him see beyond his narrow perception of the world. He had torn down his defenses and he had made Chuck want something other than praise and approval and the proud look in his father’s eyes when they had taken down another Kaiju.

But until the Drift, Chuck had still retained a sliver of wariness, of fear.

Months of rehab, of Raleigh at his side every step of the way. Months of bitching and yelling and biting at him, of glaring and exploding into his face at the slightest push against raw, open nerves. Months of dancing around each other and then finally surrendering to the thing between them.

Months…

Chuck smiled dimly at the memory of their first time. It had been an explosion of emotions, good and bad, and he knew it had been a little intense, but there had been no going back. And afterwards… things had been different. Still fighting, snarling and throwing around names and words, but it had been different. There had been this connection…

… and then the Drift…

… and he had finally believed that Raleigh wasn’t simply after the famous Hansen kid…

 

 

_“You really think I’m that cheap?” Raleigh asked, grinning._

_“I would be,” Chuck replied, anger in his voice, trying to push the softer emotions away._

_Raleigh laughed, warm and tender, making Chuck’s insides do strange things. He pulled Chuck into a gentle kiss._

_“You wouldn’t. And I like that body of yours. A lot. But it’s not why I wanted to sleep with you. It’s not why I’m your personal scratching post and target. I’m not that much of a masochist.”_

_Chuck stared at him, drawn between snapping something hurtful and just kissing the other man senseless. He took option number two._

 

 

Still he had physically pushed Raleigh away, kicked him out, refused to talk, when he needed support the most. When his father was fighting for his life, surrounded by machines, unconscious, in an artificial coma. Chuck hadn’t been able to stand the touch, the look in those blue eyes, the sympathy…

Because he wasn’t… couldn’t deal with it. Couldn’t deal with compassion and empathy.

Raleigh understood. Chuck knew the man was a lot deeper, carried an incredible pain, had clawed his way out of an abyss that now yawned under Chuck. He had lost everything and survived. He had lost part of himself, of his very soul, and he was still going. Raleigh could open up and share.

That wasn’t Chuck.

Exhaustion rolled over him and Chuck sniffled a little, embarrassed by his breakdown. He wiped his eyes again, aware that they were probably red-rimmed and puffy, and he grimaced.

The investigation into what had really happened was still on-going and James would get to the bottom of the Jaeger Bay accident.

Chuck wasn’t really clear on a lot of things. What he was clear on was his reaction to hearing that a worker had crashed a repair crane, had life-threateningly injured his father, and that the man was probably drunk. He had messed up the controls, had nearly killed the Shatterdome’s Marshall, his father, and Chuck had lost it.

He had lashed out. First at the worker, then at the hands holding him back. And finally at Bond, who had reacted accordingly.

He had lost control. He had attacked a superior officer.

Right now, Chuck didn’t give a flying shit about consequences.

It had taken three hours to get to Herc.

Three fucking hours!

Chuck had been a nervous wreck by that time, barely able to stand anyone close to him, tolerating only Bond, because the man had an air of authority around him that Chuck reacted to instinctively. Raleigh… Raleigh had been there.

Chuck couldn’t recall much else. There were fragments of something or other, but the shock had wiped out a lot.

The shock at seeing the rescue team carefully bring out the broken, bloody form of Herc Hansen. Clothes torn, blood everywhere. Blood… so much blood. His face barely recognizable under the grime and caked bodily fluids. Stabilized, pressure bandages on his hand, the paramedic on the scene yelling orders to get Hansen directly into Medical, to prepare ICU…

Yeah, he knew he had hit the deputy Marshall then and there when James had tried to hold him back from turning the stoned tech into mincemeat. He knew he had probably ruined his career. And alienated everyone else.

But Chuck didn’t fucking care any longer.

 

 

The doctors had told him that Herc was in a bad way. Blood loss, shock to the system.

They had nearly lost him once on the way to Medical, then a second time when he had been on the table.

For the emergency surgery, to relieve pressure from the punctured lung. To repair the damage done by the parts burying him after his fall.

Herc was now in an artificial coma as long as he needed the intubation. They hoped to stave off an infection. They hoped that the replenished blood would do the trick.

They hoped.

Chuck hoped.

He had never prayed before in his life, his belief shot, but he was doing something like it now. Hoping and talking to whoever or whatever listened.

The back of Herc's head had impacted with the ground. There was swelling, a sizable bruise, as well as an open wound that had been stitched closed. It spoke of the force with which he had collided with the hard metal floor. The suspected concussion was mild, considering the other wounds. There was no skull fracture, thank god, and no bleeding in the brain.

Just more wounds everywhere else to worry about.

Like two parallel cuts across his right temple and into his hair.

Like the cut on his throat that had luckily not gone deep.

Like the deep laceration from shrapnel that had sliced through the upper left arm, biting into the muscles, severing some, and it had needed extensive stitching.

Twelve stitches.

It would leave a scar.

One of many, Chuck mused dimly, wondering where that had come from.

All pilots had them. From various injuries, be it in training or a true fight. Some had them from their prior lives, before the Jaegers and the Kaijus.

There was also a deep cut in his hand from where he had apparently tried to hold onto something, but it had luckily not nicked the bone or cut through all muscles and tendons.

Be grateful for little things.

There was no apparent nerve damage.

The whole arm was swathed in bandages. His father would have to wear a sling again. He would probably bitch about it; loudly.

Chuck smiled at that.

There was another cut across Herc’s left eye, running very close to the eye itself, together with a contusion, which had necessitated the bandage over the eye. It had swollen shut anyway. So far, no one talked about possible permanent damage to the eye. The doctors were positive that when the swelling went down, Herc’s eye would be fine.

Most of his father’s body was a motley assembly of bruises of varying degrees, but none of them were life-threatening, just painful, just now coming into full bloom, some peeking out under the bandages.

It was a miracle he hadn’t broken any bones, Dr. Lee had told him. It was amazing and slightly unreal, considering the long drop down, the hard impact. But aside from the deep bruising, there wasn’t a single fracture.

Yeah, small miracles.

It was the only bright side.

And Chuck… he was at a loss

He felt emotionally and physically drained.

_He can’t die._

He couldn’t lose his father. For all his bitching and needling and strutting around the Shatterdome as if Chuck Hansen was the only one of Striker Eureka’s team who counted, he knew he would be nothing without his father.

Hercules Hansen, the strongest man he had ever known. A man he respected more than he had ever respected any Marshall, even Stacker Pentecost.

He remembered the moment of amusement in the one and only Drift with the Hong Kong Shatterdome Marshall. Just before they had kicked the Breach’s ass.

And Pentecost’s words? They had hurt. Deeply. It had been a shock to be told so straight-forward and without sugar-coating a single word what his superior officer thought of him

Egotistical jerk with daddy issues.

Chuck still cringed.

On some level he knew he was a very screwed up ass, but to hear it, just before going on the most important mission of mankind?

Fuck…

It had been a weird Drift, the first without Herc, and one that hadn’t felt right. Yes, Stacker hadn’t brought anything into the Drift, had been this neutral, strong presence, but they weren’t a true match. Pentecost was able to Drift with anyone, Chuck had realized. He was just that man who could adjust to a partner. But Chuck hadn’t wanted him.

At the time he had thought it was a suicide run and he had been prepared to go out in a blaze of glory with his father, piloting Striker, the best of the best. That had changed in a heartbeat and he had been left adrift in so many ways.

Pentecost had seen it all, had felt it all, and he had already had a plan anyway.

_Fuck that old man_ , had been Chuck’s thought back then. He had known what he had wanted to do and he had done it.

Chuck had survived.

Only to sit at his father’s bed and watch the rise and fall of his bandaged chest, watch machines breathe for him, feed him, keep him alive.

Herc was someone no other Kwoon partner had ever lived up to. Like Pentecost he easily matched and mirrored others, but Chuck had been his only co-pilot since Scott. He had been so damned proud of it, rubbing the fact under Becket’s nose that very first time in the mess hall.

_His_ father, _his_ co-pilot. Fuck off, old timer! Back to the hole you hid in! No one needs you! Least of all me!

Now that old timer, that has been, was his co-pilot and they matched, too. Their first Drift had been amazing and Chuck had been slightly breathless, feeling the other mind. Despite the damage done to Raleigh’s brain, he had been able to Drift with Mako and then with Chuck.

It had been an amazing moment.

Taking Epic North out that first time had been like being in Striker when she had first launched. It had been a revelation. It had been a moment when the last barriers had fallen, when the two men had looked at the other without pretense or masks. It had been when Chuck Hansen had… he had fallen.

Herc had known. The bastard’s expression had been tell-tale. Proud, and so much more.

_Back to Raleigh_ , Chuck thought tiredly.

Always back to him.

Part of him yearned to have the other man close. They were so fucking close anyway. Not just Drifting. They shared one of the old apartments, they lived and slept together, they were…

Shit, back to that again.

What were they?

Part of Chuck, the human side, the rattled, unsure, scared side, wanted Raleigh to be with him, hold him, calm him down. The hard-ass pilot refused to be so weak. He had lived with no one but his father for moral support for far too long to be this needy!

Mako would kick his ass and call him an idiot.

He gave a soft, broken laugh at that.

Yeah, she would.

And he deserved it.

 

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

He must have dropped off, asleep in that uncomfortable chair, because when he opened his eyes the next time, it was day outside. Well, it had to be from how the lights had been turned up in the room. With no windows, only the level of illumination gave away anything.

Chuck glanced at the clock.

Eight in the morning.

And there was a nurse in the room, checking the IV lines, the equipment, his father’s vitals. She gave Chuck a calm, reassuring smile.

He hated her instantly.

He wasn’t a child and he didn’t need sympathy!

Chuck bit down on the unkind thoughts. He was too close to the edge, too frayed at the ends, to think clearly.

He just wanted the fatigue to lessen.

It didn't, really.

It got stronger.

His own body was aching everywhere, his head hammered, and he wished for nothing but a bed and Raleigh and Max and the world to just turn back to what it had been. He wanted this to be a nightmare.

It wasn’t, though.

And, Chuck thought darkly, maybe he had managed to alienate Raleigh enough that he would be fed up with the younger man’s shitty attitude. Drift or no Drift.

_Right_ , he heard his own voice snarl. _Like he would!_ Raleigh wasn’t like that. He had taken all his abuse for weeks, had taken care of him, had watched out for him while Chuck had healed after he had made it out of the nuclear blast zone alive, and he had patiently trained with him.

Just like he had stood with him in the designated waiting area of Medical, a place not meant for anyone to actually linger and wait. Shatterdome infirmaries had no visitor areas. Chuck had simply claimed an empty office and settled down, the door open to give him a direct view of the proceedings outside.

Raleigh had been there. A steady presence.

And it had rubbed against Chuck’s very soul. He had felt so raw, so lost, so close to a breakdown, and he had finally lashed out.

He had exploded into words and furious gestures, venting emotions he didn’t know how to deal with. He had never learned.

 

 

_"Leave me alone!" he snarled._

_Raleigh wasn't impressed. "No."_

_Chuck was close to hitting him. He itched to fight something, anything. A Kaiju. He wanted to tear into the monster, send it back through the Breach in pieces. He wanted to take revenge, wanted his own pain to stop._

_He wanted everything back as it had been._

_He wanted to turn back time._

_"If I leave you alone now, you'll just act like an idiot," Becket continued, sounding so damn reasonable._

_"Who are you to judge me?!" Chuck growled, anger and rage battling inside of him._

_Raleigh’s expression was so infuriatingly compassionate. “Someone who knows.”_

_“You have no idea what it’s like!” Chuck screamed at him, pushing the man back. “You never had to sit and wait for someone to fucking tell you if your dad is going to survive!”_

_“Chuck…”_

_“You never lost someone like this!”_

_His vision was clouded, hands balled into tights fists, knuckles white against the skin._

_“I did.”_

_“Don’t you dare compare my dad to your brother!” he spat. “He’s my father! My co-pilot!”_

_The pain on Raleigh’s face was real. Chuck had seen the pain, had felt it, had been there, and still he didn’t care right now. He couldn’t care. He was deep in this abyss and he couldn’t deal with… with Raleigh._

_“Loss is loss.”_

_Chuck cracked. Like made of glass, with that blow he cracked in too many places to hold it together anymore._

_He swung at him then and Raleigh moved away gracefully, the swing going wide._

_But he wasn’t done. He wasn’t done in a long shot. He needed an outlet and Raleigh had become just that._

_With a scream of frustration, pain and helplessness, he launched himself at his co-pilot and partner. He might have landed a blow or two, but Chuck was fighting erratically, his brain no longer guiding him. This wasn’t a Kwoon match. This wasn’t even a brawl. This was raw emotions boiling over._

_Fingers clamped around his wrist when another blow failed to hit Raleigh, not unlike their furious encounter in the hallway that fateful day._

_Chuck tugged angrily at the hand, snarling like a cornered animal._

_“Chuck…”_

_“Fuck off! Just fuck off and leave me alone! I don’t need you! I never did! Just go away! I don’t need anyone!”_

 

 

Raleigh had left then and for a moment Chuck had felt like a world-class asshole.

Which he was.

No argument there.

He had told Raleigh that he considered his father as his co-pilot. Still his co-pilot. He knew there was no chance for them to be that again, but over six years of a partnership like that was hard to leave behind, even if the Drift with Raleigh was perfect in its own way.

They were partners. Professionally and privately; intimately.

And Chuck had struck where it had hurt the most: in the intimate relationship area.

Raleigh was more than a friend to alienate and then get drunk with to make up again. So much more. For months now. He was who Chuck had needed.

And the man was a saint for all the abuse he had so patiently taken.

Fuck.

He couldn’t do this.

And he couldn’t ask for help.

He was screwed in so many ways, had always been screwed.

The abyss yawned below him.

 

*

 

They kicked him out an hour later.

He threw a tantrum, gave Dr. Weng Lee a piece of his mind – and it was a very uncensored piece – and refused to budge.

They brought in the big guns then: Mako Mori and James Bond.

Mako simply gave him this Look. It was something jarring, something that had Chuck swallow back another barrage of insults, something that reminded him of their many verbal spars from back when they had first met. They had grown up with each other in a way, especially after Striker had been relocated to Hong Kong.

Bond’s expression had been deadly. Those eyes were glacial on a good day and had become downright lethal now. He hadn’t said much, but Chuck had cowed.

Fuck!

The man had authority in a very different way to Pentecost and also to Herc. He had this dangerous air, the quiet predator waiting to strike, that darkness that seemed to be part of his nature. He was a fierce Jaeger pilot, had his own share of kills, and Chuck wouldn’t want to go up against him in the Kwoon. He had been witness to a training fight between him and Q, amazed and startled how easily the former quartermaster of the Vancouver Shatterdome matched him, how well they flowed together. They didn’t seem like such a perfect fit when you simply looked at them.

It had been like a beautifully choreographed dance and there had been awed looks, some even envious.

Chuck responded to authority sometimes, though not always. This time he did, though.

He had left the infirmary.

But he would be back.

After a shower and a meal.

He wouldn’t leave his father alone.

 

*

 

He had wandered through the Shatterdome, roaming almost aimlessly, despite his firm plans to shower and eat and then go back.

His brain had a different plan.

Actually, there wasn’t a plan. His mind was blank, his feet simply moving along to a command he hadn’t consciously given, and he walked past people who might or might not have tried to talk to him.

Chuck didn’t want to talk.

He might just have snapped at them, too. He hated pity, he hated sympathy. He hated crowds.

He loved them after a win, after bringing down a Kaiju, bathing in the masses and smiling for the cameras. He loved the adoring public, the fans, the gushing articles about the father-son hero team.

Right now, Chuck wanted to be alone.

When he finally thought clearly again, he found he was in one of the old conference rooms. It was a dusty place, echoing with the emptiness that had filled the Shatterdome for too long. With only the essential personnel left, months away from shutdown, a lot had fallen to neglect.

The windows showed the Hong Kong skyline, lit up like a Christmas tree, visible even through the fog that currently swathed the bay. The light in here was murky, but Chuck didn’t care as he sat on the broad window sill, staring through the smudged window.

His head fell back against the metal beam behind him, head turned to the side to stare out into the approaching dark.

His eyes swam with the tears welling up inside and he angrily wiped at them, glaring at the wetness on his fingers.

He hadn’t cried in ages. Not for anyone he had lost. Not for fellow pilots, not for the teams. He had lost men and women he had known and trained with in the past six years, and he had never cried.

His anger and fear and grief had come out differently.

He wouldn’t lose it now either.

Chuck swallowed at the lump in his throat, but it didn’t get any better.

The last time he had truly cried had been for his mother. Alone, sitting in an unfamiliar room, weeks after his mom had been taken from him. Herc had taken him with him to the Sydney Shatterdome and he had waited for his dad to return from a very important meeting. Chuck had been terrified of this place, but he had also wanted to be brave.

There had been talk about a kid in a Shatterdome. The Marshall had argued long and hard with one of his best pilots and had finally relented. There was nowhere else for Chuck to go and Herc wouldn’t hand over his son to a stranger.

Chuck’s whole composure had shattered that night and he had cried in the bathroom, knees drawn up, face buried against his knees, all the pain coming out.

His mom was dead.

His family, all of them, grandpa, grandma, all had died.

He and his dad were the only ones left in the world.

Chuck had cried for them all, had let his tears run freely, and he had hated himself for being such a baby.

He hadn’t cried since.

Not when they had lost good men and women.

Not when Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon had gone down.

Not when he had walked into Striker Eureka without his father.

Until now.

The tears were still there, threatening to fall, and he swallowed a few times, pushing back emotions that were close to overwhelming him. He buried his head against his knees, fingers digging into his hair, the pain hardly noticeable when faced with such soul-deep agony and fear of loss.

He couldn’t be alone again. He couldn’t lose that last connection he had with everyone else he had lost, his whole family. Herc was all he had left.

_There is Raleigh_ , a voice murmured. _You have Raleigh._

It sounded suspiciously like his old man.

He almost laughed. It was more of a sob bubbling up inside him. He had someone he felt close to, someone he had Drifted with, someone he knew so incredibly well now, and still…

… here he was alone.

What he feared the most.

_Raleigh wants to be with you. He’s more than a co-pilot. He knows the pain, knows how to deal with it._

_If you let him._

Chuck didn’t move. He stayed in here as the darkness fell completely, only the lights of Hong Kong filtering through the fog over the bay and the grime on the windows. He pretended that his soul didn’t ache, that the Ghosts of old didn’t come back to soothe and caress his mind.

_You can’t die_ , he told his father, drifting through a mixture of memories that were both Herc’s and Raleigh’s.

 

*

 

Chuck left after a while, each step heavy, feeling exhausted and like he was walking through the very same fog that shrouded the Shatterdome. There were hardly any people and even if there had been one or two passers-by, he didn’t register them.

He knew he looked like shit.

He felt like it, too.

The tight knot in his chest hadn’t grown any less; neither had the lump in his throat.

His eyes burned with fatigue and more.

He was so tired, felt so empty, nothing but the churning darkness, the abyss, working inside him.

He needed to sleep. To eat. A shower.

And he needed to get back to his dad.

Chuck had no idea how he made it back to the quarters he and Raleigh had been assigned. Every step was like scaling a mountain and his whole body was trembling from exhaustion, lack of sleep, hunger.

But he made it.

No one was home.

He felt numb.

 

 

He walked into the shower, dropping his clothes left and right, uncaring. The water was hot, steaming up the glass, rivulets running down the panes.

Chuck let it beat against his tired body, let the heat loosen muscles, and he hung his head, palms resting against the wall, the water cascading down.

Tremors ran through his frame.

He couldn’t stop himself.

Everything was falling apart, all his perfectly construed shields were cracking, all the masks were sliding away. He was an open book, had always been, but that had been a lie.

He was what people had wanted him to be: the hero, the asshole, the smart mouth, the egotistical jerk. Striker’s pilot. The best pilot. The only pilot for the Mark-V.

Him and his dad.

They had been the best fucking team and he had played it for the media. He had been a rock star, as Newton might put it.

Chuck had milked that image, had lived it, had been right there, in the middle, shooting off at the mouth, the star. He had lived a life that had felt like his own and had never been. He had thrived under pressure and still it had torn him apart without his conscious realization.

He had walked another man’s shoes and the man hadn’t been his father. He was a product of the war, the Kaiju attacks, everything.

That was all in the past now.

Chuck Hansen had a different life now. He was in a steady relationship, he still had the job he loved as a Jaeger pilot, he and his Dad could work together, even without a Drift to help them get past the emotional barriers, and now…

… everything had blown apart again.

“Fuck!” he hissed, water spraying around him. “Fuck it all to hell!”

The numbness was still there, this absence of real emotions. Just echoes, hollow sensations of fury and pain and despair. Nothing seemed real and still everything was.

Chuck closed his eyes, refusing to let the burning sensation behind his eyes become more.

 

 

It was a long time later that he finally emerged, the whole bathroom filled with steam, and he didn’t really bother with the old clothes. He toweled himself off and found a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that looked reasonably clean. A brief glance in the fogged-up mirror told him he really needed a shave, but he didn’t care.

He was so tired.

So angry.

But the anger could no longer keep him going. It was like he was still at the edge, but a slight breeze would push him over.

If he didn’t take the last step himself.

Chuck bounced his fist against the wall, the tiles still damp. He wanted so much to hit something, hurt himself, have physical pain chase away the darkness.

Exhaustion weighed him down, had him drag himself out of the bathroom.

Maybe there was coffee.

Because he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to dream.

He stopped abruptly as he stepped into the living room area, frozen, mind blanking.

Raleigh.

Raleigh was here.

He was… here.

Chuck, hair damp, feeling a few rivulets run down his neck from his hair, simply stood there and stared.

Raleigh was there, looking at him, his expression slightly unsure.

He hated it. He hated seeing the man that he lo… liked…

Liked. Yeah. A lot. Deeply.

His mind stalled.

Sputtered.

Creaked and groaned around the thought.

The man he… trusted. Yes, he trusted the American. He trusted him with his life, his mind, his memories. He had felt what Raleigh felt for him and he drew a blank as to how to describe it.

Love?

_More_ , something murmured. _So much more._

It was everything. Raleigh was completely invested. It should be scary to have someone feel so intensely, to know it had built over the time that they had grown closer. That he was _that_ person for Raleigh.

Raleigh didn’t give his trust and his emotions lightly. Chuck knew that now. He had seen it in the Drifts. Becket had made a leap of faith, had trusted Chuck with his very soul, a soul that was scarred and missing a huge chunk.

Damaged.

Jaded.

Huh. It described them both. For different reasons, in different ways.

Raleigh had been terrified of Chuck seeing that part of him. He still vividly remembered walking into the mess at ass o’clock in the morning, hearing the conversation between James and Raleigh, and it had shocked him.

He had called Raleigh an idiot back then and given him a piece of his mind.

Of course Chuck knew how damaged Becket was, and he wasn’t a completely healthy-minded human being either.

The Drift had been good.

“Uh, hey,” Chuck mumbled, fidgeting like a little child.

Raleigh tilted his head. It was this oddly endearing gesture. Chuck felt something inside of him yearn for a touch.

“I… listen… I’m…”

His mind blanked again. There was an apology waiting for him to make it. There was so much he had to make up for and he couldn’t. He had never been good at that and he had never apologized to anyone for anything.

Not even his dad.

Raleigh was silent; waiting. Patient. So fucking patient! It was what had defined their relationship, this patience, this solidity. Raleigh, after everything that had gone down in the Breach, had come back almost grounded. Like he had grown roots. He felt so much more real to Chuck, so much more… himself. And when they had finally Drifted together, that sensation had sunk into Chuck as well.

Raleigh Becket had become an anchor for him, this weight that didn’t hold him back or weighed him down. It was the reassurance that someone was there, like his dad.

His dad…

He couldn’t lose him, couldn’t be alone, couldn’t imagine…

Chuck’s breathing became more ragged. Desperation rose inside him.

He couldn’t lose another person. There had been too many. Too, too many. He couldn’t… not to a bloody stupid accident…

_Not Dad._

His stomach felt like a cold, hard pit. He wanted to throw up.

“They kicked me out of medical,” Chuck managed, fighting to take control.

He sounded like a little child. Like a stubborn boy.

He ran a trembling hand through his already unkempt, wet hair, then let it fall to his side.

“I know. Dr. Lee told me when I went there to check on you.”

Chuck curled his hands into fists and he evaded those intense eyes.

Raleigh had come to check on him.

After everything.

After…

After biting everyone’s head off, proverbial claws flashing. He knew he had thrown punches at people who could have him thrown out of the PPDC. He knew he had skirted an edge, had played with the abyss, and he knew… he knew he was a real mess.

Chuck had been an ass and everything he had flung at Raleigh had been meant to hurt. To hurt badly, to push away, to make them all leave him alone.

Chuck had wanted him gone. He had wanted to be alone. He had wanted…

Something tore through him, almost made him cringe in soul-deep pain. He had tried to make it hurt more, to drown out everything else, every thought, every emotion.

Because Chuck Hansen wasn’t used to having friends. Close friends. Or Raleigh.

He almost laughed at the thought.

No, he wasn’t used to Raleigh and he had fallen back into an old defense mechanism: push away, no matter what it took.

There were few people who knew him closer, most of them dead now. Only Mako had remained.

“He also told me Herc’s doing fine. The lung’s healing,” Raleigh added mildly.

He swallowed.

When Chuck looked up, Raleigh was so much closer.

“Chuck.”

His name. Filled with so much. A question, a plea, seeking permission.

“I know,” Becket added when Chuck remained silent.

Of course he did. The bloody Yank was too empathetic for his own good!

And he had lost his brother. He had lost everything. He knew the pain and Chuck was in the comfortable position that Herc wasn’t dead.

Arms curled around him, drew him to that broad chest, and against his better judgment he went, his hands clenching into the black t-shirt, holding on for dear life. He clung to the other man like a life line. Chuck felt the tears again, hot and embarrassing in his eyes, and he heard a wrecked sob leave his lungs.

Maybe there were even more embarrassing, broken whispers leaving his mouth. Maybe he was spilling his soul.

Maybe it was alright.

Maybe it was okay to finally crack, to maybe break entirely.

Maybe he could blame it on sleep-deprivation, on emotional trauma, on being Chuck Hansen.

Yeah, the third option was the best. It always was the best explanation for the stuff he did, the stunts he pulled.

Tears streamed down his face and another sob hiccupped through. His tight control was finally unraveling, but there was no one there but Raleigh to witness as the cocky, self-assured and arrogant Chuck Hansen broke.

Raleigh wrapped himself tightly around him, both men sinking down the wall, Chuck safely ensconced in a protective embrace as silent tears ran down his cheeks.

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

He felt like swimming through smoke.

There was darkness for a while, silent and complete. 

Random jolts spiraled through his awareness, bringing a faint wave of pain each time and he cringed away from it. Pain would soon become agony.

Then sound intruded, garbled. It roused his brain, urging him to do something.

Herc didn't know what was worse, the actual moment before losing consciousness or the moment after his mind woke up again, confused and muddled, trying to make sense of what he remembered last. 

It wasn't much, he decided. 

Actually, there were only fragments, patched together, barely even real.

The Jaeger Bay.

Something rumbling.

 

_Something crashed down next to him, breaking into a million shrapnel pieces._

_He fell backwards, slamming hard onto an unyielding surface._

_The surface tilted and he slid back._

_With a gasp he tried to find a hold. His hands encountered something sharp and he cried out in pain as the sharp object cut into his hand. Blood slickened his hold and he fell._

_And he hit the floor._

 

Then… then there was a blank. 

_Great_ , his mind decided. _Just great._ No idea what had happened and too groggy to get his thought processes into a semblance of order. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It just hurt, period.

Well, he had to start somewhere, so he blinked his eyes open. 

No, wait. Eye. He could only open one eye.

What the bloody hell was wrong with his left eye?

Herc tried to lift an arm, but it felt like he had lead weights attached to them. He couldn’t get his hands to cooperate, let alone the whole arm.

The light hurt when he tried to open his good eye, so he immediately closed it again.

Just more pain.

Then he heard a voice calling his name. 

He wasn't alone.

Someone was there.

It sounded familiar and his mind sluggishly tried to remember more. He opened his eye, carefully this time, not to be blinded again.

Herc tried to talk, but found that he couldn't. Something blocked his throat and he felt his tongue push against a plastic tube. He hadn’t really been aware of it until now, his brain too slow, too everything. It was like he was packed in cotton wool and tied down.

"Easy, Marshall,” the voice said.

Herc desperately tried to attach a name to it.

“You have a tube in, so don't try to talk. Are you in any pain?"

He thought about the question, slowly taking inventory of his body. He was more and more aware of it, of how heavy everything was, how weak and unresponsive. Pain flared when he tried to move. The ache in his side became sharp for a moment, as if he was pinned to the bed with a giant needle, and he nodded.

"All right. I’ll administer a painkiller.”

Herc nodded again.

“The tube has to stay in a little longer. You’ll sleep through most of that, Marshall. Relax. You’re in good hands.”

He felt the effect of the painkiller almost immediately. His whole body was flooded with warmth, lethargy setting in. His good eye tracked movement, but it was fuzzy, the shape just a blur.

Awareness dimmed again and he slid back into the grayness that seemed to dominate his mind.

Then there was only nothingness again.

 

* * *

 

Chuck woke to the pleasurable sensation of a warm, hard body curled around his, to being held in strong arms and feeling soft breaths against his neck. He blinked his eyes open, taking in the bedroom, the sheets barely covering him.

He caught sight of the clock on the sideboard. It was already morning. Since there were no windows he had no clue if the sun was up or if the bay was still shrouded in fog.

Lips descended onto his neck, kissing him gently, nibbling slightly. He pushed into the contact, sighing in contentment. Raleigh’s fingers stroked over his stomach, petting him affectionately.

A light bite to one shoulder had him turn his head, looking into sleepy, blue eyes.

“Hey,” Raleigh murmured, nuzzling close.

“Hey,” he replied.

There was a silent question hanging between them, but he couldn’t answer it. Not really.

He felt drained.

He felt better than before.

He was tired.

He was more alive.

… He should apologize…

And Chuck Hansen was ill-equipped to do just that.

“Shower,” Raleigh offered.

“Sounds good,” he murmured. “You stink.”

Okay, check. His runaway mouth was back.

It got him another little bite, then Raleigh slowly untangled himself, climbed out of bed and headed for the shower. Chuck watched him, a faint smile around his lips.

Yeah, he felt drained. Emotionally. Physically. Everything was currently rather mellow, his whole body so languid it was surreal. His brain was still not up to par, working slowly, trying to fire up and failing.

He had apparently dozed off, because he came around to a freshly showered and shaved Raleigh leaning down to kiss him, lips brushing over his forehead, his cheeks.

“You done playin’, Rah-leigh?” he drawled, grabbing the other man’s neck and guiding him into a real kiss. Lips against lips.

“You done sleeping?” Raleigh asked. “Cause I’m in the mood for food.”

The emptiness was still there, everything purged from his mind and soul, but Chuck knew the pain would return. This was just a reprieve. It was a moment in time, between one breakdown and the next emotional whirlwind to hit him.

“I could do food.”

“Then get up and shave. You look like a fuzzy koala.”

Chuck felt another flare, this time indignation mixed with anger, but the laughter smoothed things over.

“Bugger off,” he growled and pushed out of bed.

Raleigh’s grin was unapologetic.

 

 

Thankfully Raleigh had only dragged him into the kitchen area of the apartment level for a large pot of coffee and toast with eggs and bacon for breakfast. A very late breakfast at that.

No one else was around.

They were mostly silent as they ate, Becket watching him closely.

“Not gonna fuckin’ break!” Chuck finally snarled at him.

Okay, there it was again. His temper. The flares were back, the burn returning to its usual level. He hated to be coddled and last night had been an exception.

Right?

Damn right!

It got him a small smile in return. He hated those smiles! They did all kinds of things to him, none of them helping to maintain his angry exterior.

“I hate you,” he grumbled.

Raleigh’s answer was a bright, happy smile. Totally not what Chuck would expect when told that he was hated by his…

And again, stalling mind.

Lover? Partner? What were they? Who went through such fuck-ups with a socially challenged little shit like Chuck Hansen and still smiled at him, not an ounce of resentment in his expression?

Everything Chuck could think of was crude, unrefined, describing only the surface of their relationship. Raleigh had become a part of him, a part of his soul. Hell, he sounded mushy. Sappy, too. But it was what he felt like, even if he didn’t say it out loud, voice or no voice.

Herc had shared his mind in the Drift, had been in that very same soul. Raleigh had been with Chuck in a different way, a lot more physical, but never as intimate as a Drift.

Then the Drift had been added.

It was such a fucked-up way of being together. Lovers and co-pilots, partners and Ghost-Drifting. Sharing living space, Headspace, body and mind and soul.

Like Herc.

And still not like a father-son relationship.

Chuck almost laughed out loud. No, definitely not that.

He was hard pressed to put his feelings into words. Like before. Like with Herc. Raleigh, while easily verbalizing his feelings, had never started a deeply emotional conversation. They had talked about a lot… but nothing had ever gone deeper. Maybe one or two attempts had been made, but it had stopped right away. Ridiculous.

Pathetic.

_‘I love you’ seems to be so inadequate_ , Chuck thought.

He had never been able to say it to his father. Only in the Drift.

And only in the Drift had he and Raleigh managed to get so much closer.

Becket had spent weeks with Chuck while the Australian had recovered. They had watched movies, played games, had gone over past Kaiju battles -- their own or those of other teams. It had been fun, it had given them a better understanding of each other, it had brought them so much closer, but emotionally deep conversations… hell, neither was a pro there.

Until their first Drift.

After they had slept together for a while.

Raleigh watched him and Chuck glared. “What? Egg on my chin or what?” he demanded.

Raleigh just smiled again and it did strange things to Chuck, chasing away the dark clouds for a moment.

“Sap,” he growled.

“Probably,” was the soft reply.

 

*

 

When he walked toward the infirmary again, Raleigh was at his side. Close. Very close. Fingers brushing together. There was a warm, heavy hand at the small of his back when he stopped in front of the room where his father was in.

Reassurance.

Support.

Chuck wanted to lean back, feel that warmth, feel that strength, but he didn’t.

He walked inside, feeling unmoored inside his own head.

Raleigh didn’t follow.

For a brief moment Chuck faltered, turning to look at the other man with almost painful fear. It was like the threshold was a barrier, one Raleigh didn’t or couldn’t cross.

Unless invited.

Like a fucking vampire.

Chuck didn’t know what to say, how to plead, because it wasn’t in his nature.

“Ray…”

That taunt of so many months ago had become something between them. Something intimate and filled with more than either man could verbally express. It was private. It was for them only. For Chuck only to use. It wasn’t a taunt any longer, an unwanted abbreviation of Raleigh’s name.

Chuck knew Yancy had called him ‘Rals’. That his parents had never called him anything but Raleigh. That Raleigh had hated abbreviations after Yancy’s death.

So the ‘Ray’ in the mess hall had stung.

It didn’t anymore. It was more. It meant something different. All Chuck couldn’t verbalize.

And then Raleigh took that all-important step forward, toward him, to be with him, and a strong hand curled around his wrist, squeezing it gently.

It was all that was needed.

No other words.

Chuck looked at his father, still silent, asleep, too pale and looking too fragile. Not the fearless bastard he called a co-pilot, whom he had proudly piloted Striker with, a man in whose footsteps he had wanted to step. There was a dark bruise under his closed eye. The bandaged one still had Chuck’s stomach tighten, despite the fact that it hadn’t been injured directly.

Someone, a nurse, had apparently shaved him, Chuck noted with a distant kind of curiosity.

He looked different. Strange.

Too pale. Dark smudges under his eyes. His skin was almost too gray. Too many machines hovering around him, too many needles in his arms.

Too much…

It seemed almost worse than before, now that he had had a measure of sleep. Now that he was here with Raleigh.

Chuck almost couldn’t take the last few steps forward. It seemed like an eternity until he had reached Herc’s bedside, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of the unconscious man’s chest.

He reached out and took the limp hand, not caring what Raleigh thought. Or what Herc would think if he ever heard of this.

He didn’t fucking care!

What if Herc died? What if he never woke up? What if there were complications?

Questions were running through his head and he felt himself starting to swim.

He couldn’t lose the man. Not… not now. Not after everything. Not because some crackhead had punched the wrong buttons! Not because of some stupid accident!

They had survived the bloody Apocalypse!

Chuck knew he was trembling, but he was too emotionally wiped out to care. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

Raleigh wrapped an arm around his waist. "Let's go," he whispered.

"No…" Chuck protested faintly.

“He’s sleeping, Chuck. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“It already did!” he hissed furiously, rounding on Raleigh like a stung wolverine. “He was buried under a ton of metal because of some shithead! He flatlined twice!”

Raleigh weathered the storm as always and Chuck inhaled sharply, trying to get his emotions back under control.

It was hard. Incredibly, thrice-fucking hard. Raleigh was his anchor and he needed the calmness, but he knew he was abusing that calm, steady rock. He was testing Raleigh’s patience in a very severe way.

“C’mon,” Raleigh murmured and he followed his partner's gentle pull. “There is nothing you can do, Chuck. Let them take care of Herc. He’s healing. C’mon.”

He put up a token struggle, then admitted defeat.

Raleigh cupped his face, forced Chuck to meet the too fucking empathetic eyes. “He’ll be fine, Chuck.”

“You don’t know that!” he snarled, channeling all his energy into the anger that rose once more.

Why did everyone think they knew everything? Why did they feel the need to coddle him? He had hated it as a child, to see those pitying looks, hear the clucking voices. He had hated them all!

Raleigh didn’t let go as he tried to step back and Chuck made a sound of frustration, mixed with anger and pain.

“You are not alone in this, Chuck. You’re not,” Becket insisted. “You’ll never be alone again.”

“He could die!” he snarled furiously, temper flaring. “Then I’ll be alone!”

No amount of prior venting would ever even out the flares. If anything… if anything, it made him more mad, more volatile. Chuck Hansen had never been the epitome of emotional balance and mental calmness. Not outside a Jaeger. Give him a Jaeger and he was capable of compartmentalizing. He could pilot the giant exoskeleton in his sleep, could push everything from his mind and be in this very moment.

But outside…?

He was a mess.

Psychologists had collective orgasms over his issues. As Pentecost had stated just before Operation Pitfall, he had made him within seconds. Posturing, bluster, territorial behavior, deep-seated issues concerning trust and loss and his father.

Yeah, Charles Hansen was a mess alright.

And Raleigh was trying to handle it.

He almost laughed.

“Chuck.”

He glared furiously at the other man, but the calmness his partner spread was like an infectious disease. Raleigh had his own issues, had his own darkness and pain and moments of utter loss. Chuck had been in that brain, had been in the memories, had felt the emotions and had let the instincts wash over him. He knew about the agony, had lived through the moment of a soul being torn into a million pieces, and he had understood in the Drift.

More than many.

Aside from Mako, he was the only one who probably ever would.

Raleigh’s was a different pain, but still something he would never be without. Like Chuck would never be able to overcome his own guilt and anger and darkness.

_One can only learn to control it_ , had been Raleigh’s advice in the Drift, as emotions and thoughts floated between them. _Took me five years of physical labor, barely living, barely making something out of my life. It was a life I didn’t want to live anymore._

Chuck had had ten years to deal with his mother’s death, with his own guilt, with hating first his father, then the Kaijus, then everyone, and finally pouring everything, all of himself, into the Jaeger program, into his training.

He looked into those familiar blue eyes, swallowing. His throat felt constricted, his mouth dry, his eyes were burning.

“Let us help,” Raleigh said softly, still caressing his cheek with one thumb.

It was like a physical anchor, something he so badly needed. “I… I…” His voice started to quaver.

I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how!

He felt raw, like an open wound. It was a wound he kept picking at, unable to let it close and heal.

Raleigh drew him into a hug, one Chuck didn’t fight. But he needed to fight, needed to be strong, needed…

“It’s okay. You’re not alone,” came the rumble in his ear.

Not alone.

 

tbc...


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Lee found both men to give Chuck an update on Herc’s condition, which was rather positive. There was no infection, the vitals were stable. His father had been briefly awake, though not really coherent, and the tube would be removed by tomorrow.

Raleigh had been there, a silent, steady rock in the stormy sea of Chuck’s thoughts and emotions.

Bond had dropped by, checking in on them. He had also told the two pilots that until further notice, Epic North was grounded. He didn’t need a Drift gone haywire because of Chuck’s unstable mind.

He had bristled at that, snarled at the interim Marshall, and he would probably have ended up with quite a mark on his record if James hadn’t been such a tolerant guy and the extenuating circumstances.

Skyfall, which meant Q and Bond, wouldn’t go for a dive either. If there was the necessity to deploy a Jaeger, it would be Mako and Raleigh piloting Epic.

“Fuck,” Chuck snarled when Bond was gone, glaring at the closed doors.

Raleigh smiled slightly. “You know it’s the right decision.”

“I don’t have to like it, though!”

“No, you don’t. We’re not at war anymore, Chuck. We don’t have to be battle ready. Vancouver has two operational teams in case something is needed down at the ocean floor. Newton is happy with what he already has and Dr. Gottlieb hasn’t surfaced from his Breach model for over a week.”

Chuck looked at his sleeping father, the tube, the instruments everywhere. “I know,” he muttered.

Raleigh was right behind him, a powerful physical presence, and Chuck was so, so tempted to lean back. An arm curled around his waist, drawing him against a firm chest, and maybe he made a very undignified sound, some needy little whimper, when dry lips ghosted over his cheek.

“We’ll get through this.”

We. Them. Not Chuck alone.

“You might want to drop by Tendo and give Max a good scratch. Poor thing has been moping.”

Chuck felt a bubble of laughter. It was brief, rough, but it was laughter.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t deserve this.

He was given another close-mouthed kiss, then Raleigh withdrew. Chuck glanced at him, at a loss for a moment, aware that he was probably staring at Raleigh like a little boy who had no idea what would happen now. His shields were screwed, especially around this man.

Raleigh’s smile was calming, soothing, reassuring like everything Becket had done so far. How come Chuck had come out of Operation Pitfall an even greater mess than before and Raleigh had found inner peace? And was it even possible for Chuck to be more of a lost cause than before?

Apparently.

He was shit at personal stuff and emotions were… something he had tried not to deal with, unless they hit him square in the face. Like now.

“Take your time here. I’ll update the others and walk Max.”

“I…”

“You stay with Herc. He’s your dad, Chuck. Everyone understands.”

Raleigh understood just perfectly well. He had lost all of his family. Like Mako, who had watched her surrogate father sacrifice himself in Striker Eureka.

Another mountain of guilt piling up behind Chuck. Even though Mako had never accused him of anything. Even though he and Mako had talked, over more than one beer and a lot of hard liquor, getting bloody-arse drunk. Even though, he still felt like he could have done something.

The next kiss was harder, initiated by Chuck, and he stared hard into the blue eyes.

Emotions were not his thing. Not like that. Not talking about them. He was a pro at not talking about stuff, relying on the Drift to do just that. Raleigh smiled more, thumb brushing over the clean-shaven cheek.

Then he left the room and Chuck dropped heavily into the only chair.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Bloody arse hell.”

 

*

 

Mako came by later that day, after a nurse had tried to get Chuck to leave, after Dr. Lee had checked on Herc again, telling Chuck he was doing fine.

She looked busy, carrying her ever-present tablet, but there was a smile on her lips.

“How are you doing?”

Chuck shrugged.

They had left the room, migrated to the coffee machine down the hallway, and he felt slightly more like himself today than yesterday. Mako had brought a wrapped sandwich. Chuck had been eternally grateful.

“Raleigh,” she had only said.

Well, shit. Becket was a damned saint and Chuck felt like shit on a shoe for it. He hadn’t met Mako’s eyes, fumbling with the generously made sandwich.

“He loves you, Chuck. Never doubt it.”

Those words had his head come up, eyes widening, and the deer-in-the-headlights analogy was probably rather fitting in that very second. Mako’s smile was wider now.

“Wonder why,” he mumbled.

She placed her tablet next to her on the seat. They were alone in the coffee area and the people walking past gave them the necessary privacy.

“I heard your father is doing well. He will heal. Dr. Lee assured Marshall Bond that the tube will come out this evening if the lung checks out alright.”

He nodded.

“It is good news.”

Another nod.

Mako briefly touched his arm, gaining his attention, and Chuck wished she didn’t know him so well.

But she did.

She knew his pain. Some of that pain was her own. She had lost her parents to the Kaiju, her own relatives had refused to take care of her because she was a girl, and Pentecost had been her surrogate father ever since. She had lost him, too.

Yes, Mako Mori knew the pain of loss, the desperation to hold on to the only parent one had left.

“Sorry,” he choked out.

For lashing out at her when everyone had frantically tried to get Herc out of that hole in the ground.

When she had tried to be there, to comfort him.

When she had stayed with him in the emergency room after he had told Raleigh in very clear words that he didn’t want him or needed him.

Mako’s calm, serene smile had something inside him unwind. “You were under a lot of pressure. Everyone understands. Especially Raleigh.”

“Yeah.”

“And he loves you.”

_Which is why he put up with so much shit?_ Chuck wondered faintly. _Like Herc always did?_

His father had taken a lot of abuse from Chuck in many forms, but he had never lost it. There had been the looks and the frowns, the downward pull of his lips, the narrowing of eyes, and the occasional sharp word.

They had clashed. Often. Frequently. With vigor. And it made them so much stronger. There had been those in the past that had interpreted their team dynamics wrong, who had drawn the wrong conclusions. They hadn’t seen the united front the Hansens held against an outside attack on their compatibility, on their family ties.

They had been taught.

Herc loved his son. He was proud of his son. He would protect him against everyone and everything. He had gone up against Marshalls, against other men and women calling them unstable or unfit.

Father and son had shown them just what they were made of. Even if Herc stepped back and left the limelight to his son. Even if he intercepted Chuck when he was about to make a mistake.

Like trying to go at Raleigh again.

And Chuck mirrored those feeling.

He was intensely protective of his father and now, with the close call jarring him, Chuck had lashed out more than usual.

“You and I have been in Raleigh’s head,” Mako reminded him. “You know him as well as I do. Maybe even more. Your connection is a different one from the one I shared. You are emotionally involved and invested.”

He swallowed hard.

“You know his pain, he knows yours. He knows about your dedication to your father. The Marshall is a strong man and he has a very strong son.” Her hand, still resting on his arm, squeezed it again. “That strength will get you through this.”

Chuck felt a wave of exhaustion. He was tired beyond words and his head throbbed painfully.

Mako’s hand was on his face, cool and soothing. “Sleep, Chuck. You need to sleep. Don’t run yourself into the ground. The Marshall will need you when he wakes.”

He nodded and she rose, a stern expression in her eyes. She was his age and still so much older, so much more settled and at ease with herself. Mako Mori was what Chuck Hansen wanted to be and failed at every step of the way.

 

 

“You are a child, Chuck Hansen,” she had told him when he had come to apologize to her after the incident with Raleigh.

When he had called her a bitch.

When he had provoked Raleigh into a fight that had back-fired on Chuck.

“You behave liked a spoiled little boy. As if your toys were taken from you. As if your father has gained a new son, a brother you hate.”

It had been so true back then. So painfully true. Mako had taken one look at him and known.

She had known the moment he had verbally laid into Becket.

“I went out of alignment,” she had continued. “I failed the Drift. I chased a rabbit and he saved me. All of us are damaged, Ranger Hansen. Even you.”

It had been long after Operation Pitfall, when Chuck had been released from the hospital, when he had finally been able to move around.

He had apologized and they had gotten rip-roaring drunk.

It had been a good day.

 

 

Now Mako looked at him, her soft face reflecting understanding. It was different from the way Raleigh looked at him, and still so very much the same.

“I meant what I said. Please sleep.”

“I’d rather get piss-poor drunk.”

It got him a smile. “Later. When I won’t take advantage of your current state.”

He bristled. “Hey!”

Mako chuckled softly. “Sleep, Chuck. Please. When you are better, I promise we will get drunk together.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She bowed her head, the smile still there.

Oh yeah, they would get smashed. Totally.

She left him in the small coffee area and Chuck refilled his cup. He ate the rest of his sandwich, then returned to his dad’s room.

Though he was tired, he knew he couldn't sleep. It was impossible.

 

 

But his body had a different idea.

Chuck dropped off unwillingly not much later. Not even the coffee had been enough to keep him going.

 

* * *

 

When Herc woke a second time it was to a much clearer head, no tube, and the sight of his son asleep with his head pillowed on the mattress. His left eye was still covered and he still ached everywhere, but he no longer felt like he was under water, with a brain that didn’t want to cooperate, and a body that was sluggish and not his own.

It was almost dark in the room, only the twilight of the muted lamps from over the headboard shedding some illumination. Since the infirmary ran a day-night-schedule, it had to be night.

He took stock first. Yes, there was the pain. Dull, coming from the left side of his chest. Also his left arm and hand. He could move his hands and feet, though his left hand was thickly bandaged, which was a matter of concern for him, and his arm was immobilized.

Well, fuck. Not again. He hated that shit.

The leaden feeling had eased a little, but he didn’t feel like he could jump out of bed and into a Jaeger any time soon.

That his son was sleeping in his hospital room was another dead giveaway that this hadn’t just been a bump on the head. Chuck had semi-hovered around him after Herc had broken his arm in that stupid stunt he had had to pull, but he hadn’t camped out in the infirmary.

_Oh kid…_ he thought with a faint smile.

Herc raised the hand not wrapped in bandages like he was a goddamn mummy to clumsily run his fingers through Chuck’s hair.

It had an almost immediate reaction.

Chuck’s head came up, dislodging the hand, and he blinked at Herc, blue-gray eyes sleep heavy in a face that was pale even in this twilight.

“Dad?” he breathed, voice as rough as he looked.

“Hey there, kid.” His own voice was breathy, whisper-soft, a far cry from his usual strength.

“Dad!”

He had never seen such relief, such unshielded joy, such… Herc swallowed. His boy. He could read the pain, the sleepless nights, the hope and fear, and he could read the bone-deep exhaustion, now intermingling with the relief that his father was awake.

A cough had Herc wince. It tore at whatever was wrong in his side. Chuck immediately reached for a glass of water, helping him to a sip.

“Slow.”

“You look like shit, Chuck,” he murmured.

It got him the expected and wanted laugh, followed by that familiar mask sliding into place. “Look who’s talking.”

But the mask was failing. It was cracking, splintering before his very eyes.

This had been incredibly bad.

“How long?” he asked.

“Three days,” was the answer and Chuck’s voice wavered.

Damn it all to hell!

Herc tried to raise his other hand to touch the still covered eye, but the IV lines hindered him. And where there was stuff going in through a tube, there had to be a tube for stuff going out, he realized.

Ah hell…

“Leave it,” Chuck said, carefully touching the bandages to push the hand back down. “It’s a cut and a bad bruise. Too close to the eye, not the eye itself.”

Herc felt relief hit him. “What else?” he wanted to know.

“Punctured lung.”

That explained the pain.

“Got some cuts in your arm and hand, and some burns. Nothing major. Mostly bumps and bruises.”

Yes, he did feel like he had gone ten rounds with a Kaiju and lost.

“I… I need to call the nurse,” Chuck said, sounding insecure, so much younger than he always tried to appear.

Young.

Gawd, his boy was young. Only twenty-two. He hadn’t needed this on top of everything else.

Herc was suddenly aware of his son holding his hand and he squeezed it reassuringly. Chuck looked almost embarrassed, but Herc refused to let go. He knew his son like no one else. He knew his boy and he knew there was a lot Chuck couldn’t talk about, a lot that was going through his head.

Their eyes met and held.

Six years of Drifting together had left a mark, an echo. Herc could feel it, despite the fact that Raleigh was now Chuck’s partner. He hadn’t felt jealous, only relieved. He thought of it as a positive mark, nothing to be ashamed of or to worry about.

Herc had also read about the evaluation on himself and his son as Drift partners. It had been a detailed report from the medical staff about him, his age, and it had made his blood pressure rise. They had stated that the number of deployments was eroding his reaction time and the strength of the neural handshake.

 

_‘Operational readiness does not seem to be affected as of yet. Hansen’s readiness must be observed, however. Should combat readiness lapse beyond acceptable threshold, it should be suggested to Sergeant Hansen that he move into the command structure.’_

 

Well, that had happened, Herc mused angrily. As the Marshall he wouldn’t be able to pilot a Jaeger in a battle situation. He was now one of the commanders, the bureaucrats.

But it had irked him that his age and the deployments had been drawn up as the reason for it. He and Chuck had never failed a mission, had always been steady in their neural handshake. When he had come to the report from the psychological staff, talking about the tension between him and his son, that it might affect the duration and strength of a Drift, he had nearly laughed out loud.

They had no idea about him and Chuck. None at all!

Yes, they had been right about Chuck trying to take over the dominant role in Striker Eureka, that he tried to supplant his father, but it didn’t mean they were an unstable partnership.

Hell, his kid had kept Herc on his toes and it had made them so much stronger.

It was in the past now, he knew.

Chuck had needed someone to Drift with him again and after a lot of fighting, Raleigh had taken that place.

He was glad.

And when things finally evened out around the Shatterdome, Herc had every intention of taking a Jaeger down to the ocean floor one day, too.

With Chuck.

Ghosts seemed to whisper between them, old memories of their time together.

Chuck gave him a smile, private, knowing, filled with a love he couldn’t talk about in so many words.

Then he stepped back, almost reluctantly letting go of his father’s hand, and he pushed the call button for the nurse.

 

*

 

Visitors were restricted. Family and a few of the command staff. That meant Chuck, of course, as Herc’s only family. Tendo had free pass as well. James came and went as he pleased as the deputy Marshall. Raleigh had dropped by after Herc had told the nurses that Becket was as good as family. 

Everyone else had been told that the Marshall needed rest. It didn’t stop the well-wishers from sending him mails. Nor did it stop Newton from somehow managing to get a stuffed Kaiju into the room.

It had a red bow.

It looked ugly as hell and it had Herc laugh, even though it aggravated his sore side.

tbc...


	5. Chapter 5

“What happened?”

The IVs were gone, Herc was on semi-solid food, his skin color was no longer so close to that of a corpse, and his eyes had taken on a much more lively expression. He also didn’t sleep for most of the day anymore. It was a relief to be awake longer than a soap commercial lasted on TV. Herc couldn’t remember the last time he had been able to make it through the news. He kept falling asleep right throughout the first news flash.

James Bond, sitting in the visitor’s chair, raised one eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

“Fragments,” Herc confessed. “I think the blow to the head didn’t help.”

The wintery eyes reflected amusement. “Probably.”

“Chuck didn’t talk about it.”

Actually, his son had been suspiciously absent all of a sudden. Herc knew the reason, the shattered masks, the shields that no longer existed, though Chuck should know better than to try and pull one over his father. Herc Hansen knew him better than anyone else; he was very well able to look past all the bluster.

“I know I went to check on the work in bay 4. Then, nothing.”

“And you never made it out. We had a new team working on upgrading the Jaeger maintenance cranes. One of the new guys caused a system malfunction that they didn’t catch in time. The whole thing went rogue, crashed into the bridge connecting the bays, tore a chunk out, which fell to the ground.”

“Right onto me?”

James grinned. “Thankfully no or you wouldn’t be here. I have no idea how, but you ended up on the bottom of a service shaft with the rest of the bridge and parts of the crane on top of you.” His expression darkened for a moment. “I wasn’t positive we would find you alive, let alone in one piece, Herc.”

He massaged his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his good hand. “Damn. The guy who caused it…”

“Has been strongly warned that pressing charges against your son won’t help his case.”

Herc’s eyes snapped open and he stared at his second in command. “What did Chuck do?” he demanded sharply.

“Slugged him one.”

He groaned.

“Let’s just say he had it coming and Chuck simply got to him first,” James said calmly, his face neutral, but the eyes were burning. “Half of the service crew was lining up to take a chunk out of the guy when it became clear he was under the influence.”

“Bond…”

There was an almost feral smile that told Herc just how intense the whole thing had been.

“Epic’s crew was Striker’s.”

“I know,” he gritted.

The best. Loyal to a fault. And some of those guys had been with the pilot team from the very start. They were family.

“As was Skyfall’s. The guy tried to make a run for it. He ran into Chuck’s fist.”

Herc closed his eyes, his good hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Goddamnit! How bad…”

“There won’t be a bureaucratic trail, Herc, don’t worry,” his deputy said easily. “Surveillance and the log-in for the crane have him right there. Dr. Jansen did a tox on him. He was stoned to the gills. They’re still sorting through the substances. He gave the words ‘substance abuse’ a whole new dimension.”

Shit…

“We got him and his supplier, another outsider, and they were lucky the crews didn’t find them after that little tidbit came out. I have about three dozen witnesses lining up in favor for your son.”

He gave a noisy sigh. “Chuck?”

“Nothing goes on record, Herc, aside from the drugs, the accident, you nearly ending up dead. Everyone’s swearing an oath on their mother’s grave or some bloody shit like that. I think my email inbox is flooded with more statements than ever went on record before. Your crew is very, very loyal.”

Bond winked.

Herc sank back against the cushion with a sigh. He felt a twinge from his left side and rested his good hand over the taped incision. The drainage had come out this morning and Lee was very pleased with his progress. He had to take it easy, he needed rehab, he needed therapy for the lung, but all in all he was in very good condition.

He knew he couldn’t fault his son for his reaction; he would have done the same if it had been Chuck. Hell, he would have killed the bastard, given a chance. No one hurt his boy! No one!

Herc also knew that those thoughts, this reaction, was exactly what anyone in the Shatterdome expected of the Australians. He was quite aware of the reputation they both had, Chuck more than him, though too many of the younger pilots-in-training had severely underestimated the older Hansen.

They were brawlers. They were fearless. Some called them uncivilized, some just rough around the edges. They went into a fight with everything they had, like a boxer, and their styles both matched the other. But Herc, unlike Chuck, didn’t hide insecurity behind arrogance. Chuck struck out first, verbally, sometimes physically, then thought about the consequences.

Like this time.

He sighed softly.

Bond’s smile was infuriating. The man was a mind-reader.

“Like I said, Chuck got to him first. Raleigh was a close second and I wouldn’t trust Mako in that regard either. She is… intense. I had him in isolation, under heavy guard by men I could trust not to show him what they thought of his actions. I know some of your techs wanted a piece of the guy. Everyone who has fought by your side, too. The PPDC took him off our hands. Charges are being pressed. A drug check has been introduced and everyone is lining up already.”

“You’ll be busy,” Herc rumbled, trying to ignore the warmth he felt from so much loyalty. He wasn’t Pentecost. He hadn’t stood there, holding an empowering speech, setting the clock back, taking the war to the Breach and winning.

Through self-sacrifice.

He wasn’t that loyalty inspiring figure and still…

It was humbling.

And everyone had closed rank in front of Chuck, who had expressed physically what others had wanted to do.

James shrugged. “Since Epic and Skyfall are grounded until further notice – or a dire emergency – I have some time on my hands. And Q volunteered to pitch in should there be need. Actually, half of the Kaiju lab did. Newton said he can do tox screens in his sleep.”

Herc felt the warmth again and it wasn’t the pain meds. He knew he had a loyal crew, but this was almost too much to hear.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked after a minute of silence, studying his second-in-command.

Bond had a perfect poker face. He was a cold-blooded killer in a Jaeger and he had the instincts of a predator. And he was fiercely loyal, inspiring this loyalty in others. Herc knew he was damn lucky to have him as a deputy, that Bond hadn’t returned to Vancouver when the end of the world had been averted.

Now James gave him a fake innocent look.

“What else did my boy do?” Hansen sighed, resigned.

“Nothing I wouldn’t have done, Herc. Nothing he has to apologize for.”

He stared at the other man, hard. Even with one eye covered he knew he could outstare James. Or Bond would finally take pity on him.

“Let’s just say your son is a very physical person and his expression of worry is…largely physical as well. He has a hard time telling friend from foe in that state of mind.”

Realization hit him and Herc groaned softly. “He took a swing at you?”

Bond shrugged as if that wasn’t much to talk about. “He tried. Like I said, we all understand.”

“Raleigh?”

“Knows him a lot better than you give him credit for.”

“They fucking Drift together! I know he knows my boy! Doesn’t give the little shit a free pass to verbally abuse the few friends he has in this place!”

“Oh, he has a lot more than you think. Half the service crew is keeping an eye on him. Mako has already read him the riot act. Raleigh has developed quite an immunity to the verbal garbage he spouts, and the last I saw they were pretty much inseparable.”

Bond rose, smiling knowingly. Herc hated him for that.

“Get some rest, Herc. And behave. You want to get out of here, not annoy Dr. Lee any further.”

“I’m a model patient,” Herc snarled.

Bond wisely didn’t comment, simply waved good-bye.

Herc stared at the ceiling, counting to ten to calm himself. Then he started to chuckle, wincing when his body protested.

His kid.

His son.

He should have known.

Damn!

 

* * *

 

Chuck knew he had to relieve some pressure somewhere, especially somewhere that was meant to take a hit and a beating, so he walked into the gym with the intention of just letting go. The Kwoon was the wrong place for that. But the gym wasn’t.

He stopped short when he found he wasn’t the only one there at bloody four in the morning.

James Bond, dressed in dark blue sweat pants and an equally blue, sleeveless shirt, was in the middle of the training mats, shadow-boxing.

“Sir,” he murmured.

James rolled his eyes. “Too late for that, Hansen.”

Yeah, well, Pentecost would have had him in a cell in a heartbeat after the stunt he had pulled. As it was, Bond had decked him and given him a look that had let Chuck freeze. The Brit was scary as hell if he wanted to be.

“Did you finally figure out that there is a time and place where you can hit things?” the current Marshall asked mildly, though his expression was cool and calculating.

“Uh, yeah.”

Bond nodded at the bo staffs. “Grab one. I could use a work-out.”

Chuck hesitated, though he did grab one of the wooden staffs.

“Don’t worry, Chuck. I’m the best option you have right now to get rid of that fury and negative energy,” James told him, easily catching the staff as Chuck tossed it at him.

He twirled it lazily, easily, his body already falling into a battle stance.

Chuck knew the man was a damn good fighter, probably as good as his old man, who was a fearsome sight to behold when he didn’t match and mirror. Herc Hansen was dangerous, was a master martial artist, and if it came to fist fights, he was unbeaten.

He got into position, pushing the pilot out of his head, the man who would seek compatibility. Chuck never had after Herc had been named his co-pilot.

Now he was the soldier, the warrior, and he was Chuck Hansen. He was the twenty-two year old who wanted to scream his pain out into the world, who wanted to bring everyone to their collective knees, who wanted to feel the pain that was inside him. He wanted to tear everything apart.

Bond cocked his head, a slow, predatory smile crossing his lips.

And then they were on.

No holds barred.

 

*

 

He lay on his back, breathing hard, every bone in his body rattled, his muscles screaming abuse, and still, he had never felt better in his life. There would be bruises tomorrow. Hell, they would be there in an hour or two, some probably already forming, and he might have pulled something here or there, but he felt good.

Fantastic, even.

Chuck turned his head and looked at the man sitting to his left, shirt drenched in sweat, his face flushed and sweaty, the blond hair spiky with dampness. The light in the wintery eyes was almost unholy, like something had been unleashed, something far more feral than anyone had ever seen.

Bond grinned at him, all teeth and predatory intent, and Chuck laughed.

“Already got enough?” he taunted the other pilot.

“After you,” Bond only said, smirking.

The younger man growled to himself.

James looked like he could go another two hours like this. The man was ten years Chuck’s senior, but he packed a punch that had rattled Chuck’s teeth and brain. And he was relentless.

As well as flexible when it came to fighting style, just like Herc. It had been a trait in Herc Hansen that had thrown many candidates who had run trials with the older Ranger. They had thought him to be the weaker of the two Hansens. They had been taught differently.

Fucking hell, it had been one heck of an encounter and Chuck suspected James had needed the release as much as he had.

With a groan he got into a sitting position, wincing as more aches and pains flared.

That was when he discovered their little group of spectators.

“Great,” he muttered.

He hadn’t noticed anyone joining them on the sidelines. Mako was there, looking impressed. Apparently she had come to use the gym herself. There was also Q, Bond’s co-pilot and partner, who had been there for a while, from the looks of it. Then there were about four or five Jaeger maintenance guys, all from the former Striker Eureka team, and they had apparently made bets on the outcome, judging from the money that was changing hands.

“Tendo and Newton had to go about ten minutes ago,” Bond supplied, watching the crew leave. He nodded at them when they waved.

Mako gracefully came over to pick up their staffs, shooting Chuck a knowing look.

“You need to work on your weak side,” she advised.

_Fuck you_ , he thought, exhausted and gritty.

Her smile told him that she had read his silent curse correctly.

“If there’s an emergency, I’m not home,” Bond muttered when Q joined them as well.

“No emergency, though I’d advise a long, hot shower, some advance pain medication, and maybe a good dinner,” the former quartermaster said mildly. His eyes reflected amusement and something Chuck knew only too well.

Yeah, those two were a tight item, even though there was hardly any personal interaction in public, and they had been left with a kind of Ghosting even days after their last Drop. Right now it seemed that something was definitely Ghosting around there.

“Shower, food, drugs, sounds like a plan,” Chuck sighed and bit back a groan as he stumbled to his feet.

James followed suit and it looked easy, graceful and not like a man who had just sparred for two hours with a much younger, very angry and very invested pilot.

 

 

The shower helped ease the pain, as did the ibuprofen he swallowed, though that took its sweet time to take. Chuck had a hot dinner, consisting of a lot of red meat, and he grimaced when Tendo slapped his shoulder, calling him an idiot.

Damn, he ached everywhere.

Of Raleigh there was no sign – until he came home.

Becket was on the couch; reading. He seemed to share a strange kind of fascination for old books with Gottlieb when it came to reading material. From the looks of it, Hermann had handed over half his library to Raleigh, who had neatly stacked the books in one of the shelves.

“Had fun?” his partner teased, eyes alight with mischief.

“Fuck off,” Chuck groaned.

He collapsed onto the bed with a pitiful whine. For the first time since his dad had woken, Chuck felt too wiped, too out of it, to get up again, leave his bed, and check on his father.

He was even too tired to rouse enough to complain when Raleigh slid into bed and jostled him a little.

 

* * *

 

Chuck had no idea how long he had already sat in the noisy, gritty, rundown bar, staring at nothing, twisting and twirling his drink in his hands, methodically emptying glasses and munching on the somewhat stale crackers on offer. He didn't know how much time had passed since he had taken a shuttle transport into Hong Kong, disembarked into the rainy night, and wandered the streets until he had stumbled into this place, feeling nothing but the turmoil inside him.

He had ignored everyone and everything, his feet just taking him here.

Chuck knew he should be happy. He knew he should be relieved that Herc was healing nicely. He was already going head to head with James over Marshall duties. It was always a good sign if he fought back with more than just a look and a tired sigh.

Herc’s bite was back, as was the grit and the strength, though the healing bruises and scars were a reminder of Chuck’s near-loss.

Chuck emptied the next drink and immediately refilled his glass from the bottle he had told the barman to leave. Some sane part inside of him had decided not to go for the really hard stuff with no prior food. He had actually taken the time to eat the crappy crackers, though it hardly counted as nourishmint.

Someone slid into the seat on the other side of the table and he raised his eyes to glare at the intruder.

“You started without me,” Mako reproached mildly.

She took the bottle from him and poured herself a generous shot, chugging it back. She grimaced.

“I believe you would call this rotgut.”

He laughed and Mako went to get them another bottle, this time something more smooth but still with a bite.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t think.”

He hadn’t remembered their talk, their standing invitation to get drunk together, Mako’s promise to be there. Chuck had simply let his instincts take over again.

“You make a habit of it, Charles Hansen.”

Ow, ouch, his full first name. Mako was pissed.

He shrugged.

She emptied another glass and studied him silently.

“What?” Chuck asked after a long silence.

“You are no longer alone.”

He gritted his teeth and stared at the worn table top.

“The Marshall isn’t dead.”

Another cheap shot.

“And you have friends, Chuck. We worry with you. We want to help. You have to let us, though.”

“I can’t.”

“You learned to love,” she reminded him. “You can be taught.”

His head came up and he glared at Mako, who smiled serenely. “I’m not a fucking dog!”

“You also neglected Max,” she added, as if they had always been on that topic.

Max had been with Raleigh, Tendo or Mako the whole time. Chuck hadn’t been able to care for the animal, his best and sometimes only friend throughout the war, and it hurt to be reminded of that.

“I know,” he muttered and sipped at the drink. It did taste a lot better than the other stuff.

“You are very lucky that Raleigh loves you or I would have kicked your sorry little ass,” Mako stated.

He blinked at her, those words a little unfamiliar out of her mouth. Then Chuck laughed, drawing a smile from her.

“Yeah, I believe you. James got there before you.”

“I offer the same services, Mr. Hansen.”

He laughed more and shook his head. Then Chuck raised his drink. “Cheers, mate.”

Mako mirrored his move and they refilled their glasses.

 

 

It wasn’t a big surprise that he came back drunk. Mako was a lot more in control, probably only slightly tipsy. That woman could hold her liquor!

Chuck crashed on the couch, mumbling a curse.

He didn’t remember much after that.

 

 

The hangover the next day was a bitch.

Raleigh’s wordless offer of Alca Seltzer mollified him a little, but he still hated himself with a vengeance.

Strangely enough, he felt better, though.

 

tbc...


	6. Chapter 6

The concussion had left Herc with a minor headache that had him irritable. More irritable than he usually was when it came to injuries that confined him to Medical. His broken arm of months before hadn’t even warranted an overnight stay due to the end of the world about to happen. Past stays had been hell on the staff.

Now he would be here for quite a while.

And the headache didn’t help.

What helped were visits from his people, like Tendo Choi. The man was quite entertaining. He updated Herc on Shatterdome matters, though he was clearly under orders not to give the currently inactive Marshall anything that would necessitate him getting out of bed because of a crisis he thought that needed his input.

Tendo was also Max’s sitter sometimes. Chuck had spent all of his time haunting Medical, which was understandable.

Right now, as Tendo was trying to keep Herc’s spirits up, he was hopefully catching up on some sleep.

 

*

 

It took Herc a week to finally make it out of medical. He was awake longer every day, getting better, stronger, and more vocal about wanting to leave.

Dr. Lee was adamant.

The bandage over his eye had come off. There was no damage to the eye itself, much to Herc’s relief. There was just a very obvious bruise and a deep, stitched cut that would need time to heal. He was already in rehab for his hand and while the cut hurt like a bitch when it didn’t itch abominably, he would regain full use of all fingers.

With the permission to leave came the firm orders to take it easy. His lung didn’t need any stress right now. Neither did the rest of him. Dr. Lee told him several times that he needed to take time off, have a vacation, be away from the Shatterdome.

Herc didn’t even know when he had been able to just take days off.

Before the war?

James had come by every day, updating him on matters. The man had been stoically listening to Herc rant about doctors and rules, then told him in a clear and direct way that he didn’t want to see his ass anywhere near LOCCENT or in his office.

“Tendo, Mako and I are handling matters. You’re not needed.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for that,” he replied, grumbling.

“Herc, you almost died,” James reiterated, those intensely blue eyes pinning the Marshall. “Give yourself time. We got the rest handled.”

And give Chuck time.

His kid had gone through a very rough patch and despite all the recent bluster that he was doing okay, Herc hadn’t forgotten the lost and frightened expression Chuck had been unable to hide.

The fact that his son kept hovering around him was another clue as to his emotional state.

Herc let him.

He needed it just as badly as Chuck did, and neither talked about it.

 

 

Herc was given a last exam, then a long list of Dos and Don’ts was in his hands. He still needed to wear a sling, which he cursed under his breath, and his side was rather tender. The surgical incision looked fine, but the collapsed lung needed time.

Eight weeks, Dr. Lee estimated. There had been no infection and he healed well, so eight weeks should have him back in the saddle. Herc intended to get back there sooner to do his work. He would go crazy just sitting around like an invalid – which he wasn’t.

Chuck was there when Lee left him alone, pale, tense, teeth worrying his lower lip until he caught the nervous little motion.

Herc slipped off the bed and had to stop for a second because he felt a dizzy spell. His whole body protested the movement, all those cuts and deep skin bruises made themselves known. On top of that he was suddenly very much aware of the truth behind his doctor’s words: he wasn’t in shape; his body needed rest to recover.

"Are you okay?" Chuck asked, sounding as worried as he looked now. He had taken a hesitant step forward, clearly fighting with his own instincts.

"Yes... just dizzy." He inhaled deeply and it got a bit better.

“Dad?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he all but growled.

Chuck looked drawn between anger and worry, but the anger won. That stubborn streak was there, his eyes tightening, his hands clenching, his whole body radiating tenseness. Underneath was a desperation Herc had seen only a few times before. The last time had been when he had been forced to stay behind as Pentecost and Chuck had taken Striker Eureka to the Breach.

It had been the very same expression. The very same, unnaturally pale face. The very same liquid expression in his eyes, red-rimmed, so close to an emotional explosion and yet so controlled that Chuck was almost vibrating with the tension.

The very same.

“Chuck,” he said, forcing calmness into his voice. “Son…”

“Don’t,” the son in question hissed.

Herc grabbed Chuck’s hand and cursed the next dizzy spell that was accompanied by a slight headache.

But his son was apparently an empath, because his anger went out the window and the worry was predominant again.

“I’ll get a wheelchair.”

“No, you won’t!” he snapped forcefully, straightening to his full height. His side took it badly, but he refused to falter. “I’m very capable of walking out of here!”

Chuck met his angry eyes with a stubborn look of his own. It was a non-verbal battle for dominance, for obedience. He wouldn’t be wheeled out of here. No way in hell!

His son’s face was a mask of barely swallowed fury, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Then his lips turned from a near-snarl into a smirk.

“Okay,” Chuck drawled slowly. “You do that.”

And he did.

Stubborn and angry at the mere suggestion to be wheeled to his quarters.

It was a fight, though. A hard, hard fight not to just slide down the wall and curl up in a ball of pain. His left side was twinging, burning, finally more or less on fire, and his head hurt. There was a pulsing ache behind his left eye and every beat of his heart was loudly echoed in his brain.

Herc almost groaned in relief when they arrived at his quarters. He was physically and mentally exhausted.

Chuck didn’t comment on his soft moan when he sank onto the couch, favoring his bad side. But there was a blanket next to him when Herc opened his eyes and Chuck was moving around in the background.

The Marshall smiled dimly.

A bottle of water was pushed into his hands, as well as his prescription meds.

“Take them,” Chuck ordered.

He did. He had no fight left in him.

 

*

 

His still strapped arm bothered Herc. It was a nuisance, especially since he had had the same strap on the other side already. It was especially bad when he tried to shower or when he wanted to sleep.

Chuck was there. Never verbally offering, almost shy in trying to help, as if it made Herc seem weaker than he was. It had been the same with the broken arm, but Herc knew it had been his own damn fault. He had pushed Chuck away, furious with himself, aware that he had been responsible for his injury and no one else.

He had taken it out on his son; indirectly.

Refusing help.

They were both hard-heads, both too independent and proud, but he had given in when the mess with his arm had required Chuck’s help.

Like now.

Again.

Add to that the myriad of bruises and cuts, the headache that came from the concussion, and Herc was irritable on the best of days.

Chuck snarled back, though the barbs were less poisonous. He was also there to help Herc change the bandages or treat the cuts and bruises, as well as the surgical wounds.

 

 

Bond just gave him those looks that promised death should Herc even think about Marshall duties.

“Take time off, Herc,” he repeated what he had said a few times, echoing Lee’s words.

Yeah, it might be the best thing to do.

 

 

Chuck had also migrated to Herc’s quarters, spending the first night there on the guest bed. Herc had been too tired, too much in pain and later too doped up on pain-killers to comment.

When he could think more clearly again, he finally looked at his boy and he saw the stress of the past two weeks as clear as day. Chuck looked haggard, clean-shaven but still unkempt in a way that no amount of clean, ironed clothes could hide. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of nightmares or not enough sleep. He was too pale, too frayed around the edge, his eyes almost feverish.

And there was something else, something so easily forgotten, because Chuck was so damn good at hiding who he was.

Hiding just how young he was. Hiding it even from his own father.

But now, his shields failing him, walls crumbling, there was nothing to hide the fact anymore. Chuck looked so young, so at a loss, so desperate and out of his depth. There was a softness to him that wasn’t physical.

Herc felt a tightness in his chest, the worry of a father, the guilt of always taking and never being there. He was the source of his kid’s worry and pain, and he really didn’t do much to help.

They were both stubborn. They were both hard-headed. Father and son, too alike, too angry at the world, and only ever in synch inside the Drift.

Right.

At least if you listened to rumors.

Herc knew they were compatible outside as well, as long as emotions stayed behind carefully constructed walls.

Those walls had come down, hard and fast, and neither man was really equipped to deal with the fallout of the accident that could have cost Herc his life.

“Chuck.”

The ginger head came up, almost alarmed, and he immediately checked on his father.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Stop mother-henning!” Herc grumbled from where he had settled on his bed. He sighed when he caught the pained expression. He was shit at this. Always had been. “Just… I’m okay, Chuck. I’m healing. I’m not going to keel over.”

You can leave, was the unspoken addition.

Chuck drew a pained breath, looking so tense Herc was afraid he might snap.

“Kid, look at me.”

The blue-gray eyes snapped up as if following an order.

“You need sleep, son. You need to let go. When was the last time you slept at your own place?”

Chuck looked even more pained. “Dad…” There was a vulnerability there that Herc had rarely seen before.

“I know it was a shock, but I’m fine. You can leave me for a few hours and nothing will happen. I have a bunch of people flocking around me, wrapping me in bubble wrap as it is.”

Chuck’s hands clenched into fists, then he suddenly lashed out and hit the wall in a fit of anger. It was such an explosion of temper, so unexpected because it hadn’t happened in years, that Herc moved without thinking to make a grab for his son, to keep him from injuring himself.

Without thinking about his own physical limitations.

 

 

Chuck knew he had overreacted, that this had been just a vent for a quick release. He couldn’t hit the man who had been responsible; at least not again. He had already been taken off their hands, James had told him. And he couldn’t hit anyone else.

So the wall it was when everything finally became too much. When his father pushed him away again.

Chuck knew he should have taken Herc’s reaction into account. He had made a mistake losing control like that.

He immediately knew how badly it had been.

Herc swung his legs off the mattress and tried to get up. The operative word was 'tried'.

Chuck saw the flinch, saw muscles cord and stand out against the pale skin of his neck and face, and a soft sound of pain escaped the older man's lips.

One arm curled protectively closer to the injury, the injured lung, the surgical incision, and he flailed for a hold as the lance of agony unbalanced him.

Chuck was at his father’s side in a flash.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, catching the stumbling man and easing him back down.

Pain-filled eyes opened and stared at him. His father was breathing hard, curling protectively over the injured side, and he moaned softly. Too much too soon. His body wasn’t used to moving like this anymore. Too much rest, muscles weakening, reflexes dulling, and his brain not yet caught up on the facts.

Chuck held the confused gaze as one of Herc's hands dug into the younger man’s arms in turn, riding out the pain.

The expression in the still too pale face was almost fright, mixed with need, a battle between wanting Chuck here and not having him see the helplessness.

"S'okay," Chuck murmured. "Just relax. I gotcha."

He didn’t care how weak his father appeared right now. He would never care. This was his dad. This was the man he had fought with. This was the man he knew inside out, of whose strength he knew, how intensely powerful he was. Wiry, strong, powerful. His dad. And right now he was all that, too. Even if he didn’t have the strength to actually stand, much more move as he was used to.

Finally the slender body sagged a little, easing back, though Herc still breathed harshly, trying to cope with the remaining pain and the adrenaline rush.

“Shit, dad…Sorry. I’m sorry,” Chuck blurted, still close, still touching the older man.

Herc squeezed his hand. “Not your fault. My bad.”

Chuck struggled with his emotions, drawn between just stepping back to call for a doctor, and holding on. Herc squeezed his arm.

“Son.”

“I’ll call Lee.”

“I just moved too fast. I’m fine.”

“But…”

“Chuck!”

Another surge of anger rose, but he pushed it back. He balled his hands into fists. He wouldn’t bite back. He wouldn’t lose it again.

 

 

Herc saw the expected reaction, saw the defenses come up, like canons swiveling to find a target, and Herc reacted before Chuck could.

He wrapped his good arm around his boy’s neck, pulling him into a one-armed hug, damn the uncomfortable pull at his sore side.

His son made a startled noise, fighting for a second, trying not to get pulled forward and collapse against his injured father.

“Let go,” Herc murmured.

Then suddenly all the fight went out of him, like a switch had been thrown. His fingers clenched into Herc’s shirt, still so very careful of the surgical cut in his side, of all the other scarring wounds, and his head buried against his father’s neck. Herc’s fingers squeezed the strong neck, felt the tense muscles there, and he whispered soft words into his son’s ear, stubble scratching against the smooth skin.

Chuck’s arms came around his waist and then he just held on, still mindful, but the intention was clear. The need was even clearer.

Herc had always been proud of his son, of his strength, of his achievements, of everything Charles Hansen was. Yes, he was an egotistical jerk. Yes, he had issues. By the ton. And yes, Herc blamed himself for not handling it all better, but he had grieved at the time as well. He had been a soldier in a war, had lost his wife, had had to raise a son in a war zone, and things had gone out of control.

Still, it could have been worse. His boy had come out alright.

It hadn’t helped Chuck’s ego trip that he had been the youngest Ranger to enlist and be accepted at the Academy. Desperate times and all.

It hadn’t helped that he had been just that good, had beaten older and more experienced Rangers.

It hadn’t helped that he hadn’t made friends, that he had been driven to prove himself, to get a Jaeger, to avenge his mother.

He had become a perfectionist. He had become the best and the brightest. He never had and never would tolerate failure and cowardice.

Chuck Hansen had been among the elite Rangers at the tender age of sixteen, going on seventeen, and by the time he and his father had taken down six Kaijus, he had become a self-assured, arrogant ass. He could do whatever he wanted and no one gave a damn.

He was just that good. No one cared as long as the media loved the bad boy. Roguishly handsome, fearless.

Aggravating as hell, too.

And with no social life outside the PPDC, though the media had given him a ton of girl-friends, the ladies hanging off his arms wherever he went. Chuck had played the cameras, the reporters, the talkmasters. He hadn’t denied or confirmed anything. Men or women? He had simply smiled.

There had been little in the shape and form of real relationships.

His fault, Herc knew.

And Chuck knew about the blame as well. The blame game they both played.

Still they had become the best team out there. Eleven kills under their belt.

“Son,” he murmured. “Charlie.”

Chuck made a soft, desperate sound, fighting against an emotional wave that threatened to drown him. His boy was twenty-two, for fuck’s sake! Half of his life had been spent fighting a war no child should be involved in. Just like one half of his parents had been taken too early, violently, leaving him adrift.

It had been Chuck against the world ever since.

They had never been good with emotions, but Herc knew this had to come out.

It did.

The ragged sobs that reminded him of the child he had tried to help through the burial of his mother – and failed. Caught in his own grief, losing the woman he had loved so much, the mother of his precious child, Herc Hansen had been ill-equipped to help a twelve-year-old understand loss and grief.

_Oh Angela. I tried to be a good father and I failed. I failed so badly. I didn’t want this for him, but it was all Chuck ever knew. The war, the fight. Being the best._

Pain laced his thoughts and he tried to get his control back. He had shoved those memories aside, locked them up and had hoped never to have to dig them out again, but now he had.

Unwillingly. Involuntarily. Almost automatically.

His beautiful wife. His only child. It had been a decision made in a split second; made together. As one.

Save Charlie.

And now his son clung to him, the fear of nearly losing his only other parent too vivid on his mind. All the pain and stress was breaking through and Chuck had no control any more.

He ran soothing caresses through the spiky, tousled hair. He listened to the ragged breath, tried to reassure his son that it was okay, that he didn’t think it was shameful to let his emotions out.

“…sorry… sorry…”

Chuck’s voice was whisper-soft, filled with tears and emotions he never expressed outside a Drift.

And Herc missed Drifting with him. Missed it badly.

They had always been so in sync with the other. Evening out each other’s weaknesses. Drifting had never been about strength, smarts or dominance. All that the two Australians displayed outside the neural connection, the way Chuck was this rugged brawler, the egotistical jerk who tried to one-up his father, was gone when they were in the Headspace.

Perfect compatibility.

Balancing each other.

No weaknesses, no strengths, no dominance, no submission. No barriers between them.

“You’ve got nothing’ to be sorry for,” he rumbled. “Nothin’ at all.”

 

 

Chuck quieted down after some time, face buried in Herc’s good side, clearly exhausted, and it came as no great surprise when he started to doze off.

Herc let him.

His boy needed the rest.

He still ran his fingers through the tousled hair, smiling. Memories of a time long gone rose. Memories of a small child, crying over a broken toy, over scraped knees and chafed hands. He remembered his little boy, just starting to walk, so proud of his achievements.

And he remembered Chuck having to grow up. Too fast. Too fucking fast.

There had to be an outlet for that, for all of that, one day. All the pain and trauma and nightmares. Fighting monsters, facing horrors from beyond the Breach, fighting to survive.

For the whole world.

And when everything seemed to finally be over, when the Breach was closed, the monsters were gone, when humanity had a chance to rebuild, Chuck had faced another nightmare.

He had gone at it in his usual manner: bull-headed, stubborn, arrogant, relying only on himself, and fighting tooth and nail.

“I got you,” he whispered. “I got you.”

Maybe time away from the Shatterdome wasn’t such a bad idea. Just him and his boy.

They might just kill each other in those days, but maybe, just maybe, some healing could be done, too.

 

tbc...


	7. Chapter 7

Chuck woke next to a firm, hard body, listening to the familiar breathing. He knew this wasn’t Raleigh. The body felt wrong. More sinewy, slender, more hard muscled and battle worn. There was also the soft snore he knew so well. He and his dad had spent six years in close quarters, battle-ready. It had been tight quarters, but still it had never been the reason for their verbal sparring. Strangely enough, being so close together had helped ease over the flares.

And Chuck had never known anything else; life of a soldier.

Blinking his eyes open, Chuck sat up slowly and carefully as not to disturb his father. Herc lay on his back, his injured arm strapped to his side. His good arm had loosely rested against Chuck’s back and now lay on the mattress.

Chuck rubbed a hand over his face, eyes crusted with dried tears, feeling gritty.

He had fallen asleep after venting all his pain and fear, after bawling like a baby. Still, it had been freeing. It had cleared his head, his mind, and he smiled dimly.

This had been a first for them: showing emotions outside a Drift. That hadn’t happened since his mom’s death. It had been… new and it was frightening, but not in a bad way.

Chuck slipped out of bed without waking his father. His eyes ran over the way too pale and oddly still fragile looking form. He felt the still simmering fury burn more brightly. He wanted to take a chunk out of that stoned tech, wanted him to suffer as much as Herc had. He wanted to tear him to pieces and leave them for the Kaiju parasites to feed on.

Drawing a deep breath he calmed himself forcefully and walked over to the bathroom.

When he was done, he checked on his father one last time, then headed out to find some food, and probably Raleigh.

 

*

 

They didn’t talk about it.

They never did.

The knowledge was there, though. Both knew more about the other than anyone ever would. Herc knew his son loved him, showing it the only way he could; his way. And Chuck knew that despite the pain he had caused his father, Herc would never turn his back on him.

They were family.

They were all they had left in that regard.

“Apologize to Raleigh,” his dad growled.

Chuck glared at him.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t tear into him like a bear with a sore paw, kid. I know you did. It’s a miracle Becket’s still with you.”

His temper flared and his hackles rose.

“That boy is very much in love with you. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

Chuck snarled a curse, aware of the truth in those words. He really didn’t deserve that man. The shit Raleigh had put up with in the past months would have been enough for Chuck to leave if the roles had been reversed.

“Fuck off,” he only said and stalked away.

He knew his dad was laughing at him.

 

 

Chuck glanced his co-pilot, currently looking quite comfortable on their couch, reading a book. The sweat pants and black shirt didn’t help in making him any less attractive, especially since he had come fresh out of the shower after a long run with James. His hair was in disarray, still darker from the remaining dampness, and he looked positively edible.

Chuck felt something inside him shiver.

They hadn’t been closer than a hug or a brush of lips since his father’s accident. That one night together had been the most intimate of encounters.

Sometimes Raleigh’s investment into this relationship was overwhelming. The man was incredibly committed. Ever since their first Drift, Chuck also knew how much he meant to Raleigh and it had terrified him. He had never had such an intense and close relationship with anyone.

Not even his father, who he was very close to due to the Drift.

And then there was the self-doubt. Not just his own. Raleigh’s. The man had too much damage in his soul, was too frightened of what could still come out of the broken Drift with Yancy, and it had taken Chuck a while to batter down that door, chase away at least some of that darkness.

It had worked.

They worked.

It was amazing.

He hadn’t really been that much of a good… partner. Yeah, he should stick with partner.

Well, he had been the usual little shit and Raleigh had simply taken it all. Even when he had claimed that Herc was still his co-pilot. That had gone down well. Chuck knew how furious and angry he would be if Raleigh had told him something similar involving Yancy. Or Mako.

He was a bastard and he knew it.

“You chugging valium on a regular level?” he asked gruffly.

Raleigh’s head came up, honest confusion in those baby blues. “What?”

“I would have kicked my sorry ass out of here already.”

Becket closed the book. “You were under a lot of stress.”

“I was an ass.”

That got him a smirk. “No more than usual.”

Chuck glared at the man on the couch, now standing right in front of Raleigh. “You let anyone just walk all over you?”

“If that ‘anyone’ is you, who is worried about his father, who happens to be in the hospital? Yes.”

“Finding excuses not to hit me, Becket?”

“I don’t need an excuse, Hansen.”

He snarled and straddled Raleigh, still glaring at him, daring him. Raleigh’s response was a smile, open and honest and too damned sweet to resist. He leaned down and kissed him, slow and just as sweet.

It was a kiss with such emotion, Chuck couldn't but reply with deepening the contact. He carded a hand into the blond strands.

Deepening the kiss, he felt part of him unwind, relax, lean in closer, and Raleigh’s hands were on his back, under his shirt, sliding over warm skin.

“Damn, I missed that,” Chuck whispered, voice rough, when they parted.

Raleigh’s smile was playful. “You can always catch up.”

Chuck nipped at the soft lips, then at his partner’s chin, leaving little marks that would quickly disappear. He bit a little harder when he reached the neck and Raleigh exhaled sharply. His hands gripped Chuck’s hips, pulling him closer, and there was a definite interest there.

“Better?” Raleigh asked, voice a little rough.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Kinda. Still scared.”

He had expected the mild surprise at the open words. Chuck Hansen wasn’t known for baring his soul outside a Drift, but he had done nothing but lately.

“He’s okay. You both are.”

“Fucking psychologist.”

“No, just me,” Raleigh said calmly. “Me and five years of introspection.”

Chuck was still pushing against his partner’s hips, still had his fingers buried in the stupid blond hair. And Raleigh finally took a hint and slid his fingers underneath the loose shirt, over warm skin, following the line of muscle and ribs.

Chuck closed his eyes, almost moaning. Two weeks of not getting any, of worrying, of barely sleeping, and he was sensitive as hell.

Raleigh kissed the hollow of his throat, teeth nipping playfully.

“Ray…” he sighed pleasantly.

“It’s Raleigh,” came the expected rumble.

It was like a game. It was what Chuck wanted, their old banter, the old feeling of rightness.

The Australian grinned unrepentantly. “Rah-leigh,” he drawled with a wicked glint.

It earned him another nip and he shivered.

Raleigh pushed up his shirt and he quickly pulled it off, wanting the blond’s hands on his chest.

Chuck refused to be passive and he dove in, hard and fast, claiming that already wet, ravished looking mouth and he ground against the prominent bulge, triggering his own groan with it.

Somehow Raleigh’s shirt went off.

He had to move to get out of his pants and they were the longest seconds in his life.

They ended up naked.

And Chuck just let go of it all, the pain and desperation and fear, wanting nothing but to feel the other, hard body.

Raleigh complied. No questions asked.

 

*

 

Chuck woke, body aching in a very good way, feeling more relaxed and less like a tightly coiled ball of steel wool. It was this languid, molten sensation from deep within, this sensation of safety and warmth and the momentary peace. He knew it was stupid, would never say it out loud, but he enjoyed it and he wanted it. He wanted it with Raleigh.

He was alone in bed, which was a shame, but from the sounds coming from the bathroom, Raleigh hadn’t left the apartment.

Stretching, savoring the twinges speaking of a very good night, a very intense encounter that hadn’t ended after getting fucked through the mattress only once, Chuck finally got up and padded over to the small kitchen. There was fresh coffee, bless the man, and he poured himself some.

“Hey.”

He smiled at Raleigh, dressed in sweat pants and nothing else, leaning against the kitchen counter. He could see the scars. All the reminders of what the other man had survived, his track record when it came to fighting Kaijus. They all had them, just differently.

Another stupid emotion rose inside him, this longing and… and… He stalled, like he always did. Looking at the other man, Chuck just knew he would never be able to say it out loud.

Because if he did, it might be gone.

Yeah, issues to the gills. Chuck Hansen, a book of freaking issues. Psychologists would wet themselves over what was seriously wrong with his psyche.

Fuck them.

Raleigh kissed him, startling him out of his thoughts, and he was given a knowing grin.

“Zoning,” the blond murmured.

“Hm, your fault, you stupid Yank,” he growled, trying to cover up his momentary fugue.

“What did I do again?”

“You exist.”

Raleigh laughed and stole his mug to sip the still hot coffee.

“Hey!”

“I made it. You just pilfer.”

“I live here, too!” he snarled.

Raleigh’s expression was so bloody damn sweet and he hated the man for it, but his mug was returned. With another kiss. One that was decidedly more than a ‘good morning to you’.

Chuck forgot all about the coffee, diving into the kiss, opening up, easily falling into the battle for dominance. Raleigh let him win this time – he knew he did, bastard! – and Chuck pushed the other man against the counter, hands roaming over the free expanse of skin. Scars were familiar bumps under his fingers, a road map of Raleigh’s life and loss and pain, and he pushed past them, past the waist band, grabbing the hard muscled ass.

“Just showered,” Raleigh groaned his almost-complaint.

“Water’s not rationed,” Chuck growled. “Do it again.”

With that he almost angrily pushed the sweats over the narrow hips, sinking to his knees. There was no doubt about his intention or Raleigh’s definite interest.

He swallowed Becket’s dick and sucked hard.

It got him something that was almost a cry of surprise, then Raleigh got with the program.

He always did.

And it was always good.

Sue them if they didn’t leave the place until early afternoon. Fuck whoever gave them those knowing looks as they passed them outside.

 

 

Chuck never apologized for what he had said. About him and Herc still being co-pilots. Well, not in words anyway. He wasn’t good with words. Usually the wrong ones came out and made matters worse.

He simply hoped Raleigh understood.

He loved his father. They had been good together; they had taken out eleven Kaijus in their time as co-pilots, had piloted a bad-ass Mark-V, the only one ever built, and he had been the best.

Still was.

Chuck had simply lashed out and he had chosen a very good weapon.

And he couldn’t apologize.

Raleigh had looked at him when he had tried, stumbling over words, finally refusing to say anything.

He had kissed him then.

Chuck had gone with the flow, had kissed back, and it felt like an apology that had been accepted.

If not, he would have the next Drift to set things right. It had always been his way of dealing with emotional issues; it had always worked.

 

* * *

 

Rehab was a bitch.

Working out on his own, following a very precise set-up, was even worse.

Herc cursed when he brushed his bad arm against one of the lockers, jarring the still healing deep tissue damage. A flare of agony went through the limb and he curled up a little, hissing. The pain wasn’t as bad as when he had broken the other, but it was bad enough for him to stop, holding it with his good hand until the worst subsided.

“Dad?”

His son was suddenly there, only half dressed from his own work-out in the gym, eyes wide.

“I’m okay,” he growled. “Just bumped my arm.”

Chuck’s eyes were filled with worry that he hadn’t been able to hide. His gaze flicked over the arm in question, probably looking for blood. The stitches had come out just yesterday. The scar looked good and therapy had already strengthened the muscles. The rehab specialist had told him to take it easy on the work-out program she had set up for him, but to train regularly. .

“Chuck. Son, I’m fine,” Herc insisted, catching those eyes, holding them.

“I know,” was the harsh answer.

_Do you?_ Herc thought. He understood the fear, would feel the same way, and it was an effort for Chuck to keep the shields up when around his father.

He had felt the same way, he reminded himself. He had seen Chuck in a hospital bed not too long ago. He had sat there, waiting for his only son to wake, to hopefully come back whole and healthy.

They had spent a lot of time together lately, just like when they had been the pilots of Striker Eureka. It had helped ease Chuck’s mind, even though he would argue that he was perfectly okay, had a handle on the dark thoughts of loss.

Herc knew better.

At twenty-two, Chuck was still very young. He had never really worked through the loss of his mother and now he had been confronted with almost losing his father, too.

The older Hansen straightened and nodded at Chuck’s locker. “Get dressed before you catch something.”

Chuck glared a little at him, but he turned and banged around his locker, looking almost angry.

His usual way of dealing with emotions, flares of worry and fear.

Herc hadn’t really done a lot today, mostly endurance. Cycling. His arm wouldn’t take weight training kindly and he really didn’t want to piss off Olivia, his therapist. That woman had scared more than one Ranger into submission.

“Lunch?” he asked when he shut his locker.

Chuck shrugged. “Sure. I got no plans.”

Herc raised an eyebrow and his son actually flushed, though the older Hansen hadn’t said a thing. He smirked and received a dark look in return.

 

*

 

They ran into Newton and Hermann on the way, both men arguing – as usual – over something Herc had no clue of ever understanding – as usual.

“Marshall!” Newton exclaimed, smiling widely. “How are you?”

“Fine. All mending. I wish they’d let me work, though.”

Hermann’s expression was his usual scowl as he looked at the man in charge of the Hong Kong Shatterdome.

“A collapsed lung is not to be taken lightly, Marshall Hansen,” he said stiffly.

“He’s fine, Herm. They wouldn’t let him run around if he wasn’t,” his lab partner argued back. “Law suits of epic proportions would ensue!”

Gottlieb rolled his eyes.

Newt smiled widely.

Herc gave him a grin, though Hermann only shook his head at his partner’s antics. Newt pushed the other man toward wherever they were headed and Herc chuckled.

 

* * *

 

He was on desk duty. Light desk duty, as his rehab therapist, his doctor and his second in command had all told him on separate occasions. On one such an occasion they had actually ganged up on him and Herc had been close to throwing something against the wall.

But they were right, he knew. He wasn’t in any shape or condition to do more than push papers, read reports, talk about the changes going on in the PPDC and the Shatterdomes, and even that was straining. His body was demanding its rest and he had to follow, as much as he hated it.

But it was getting better, Herc mused with dark humor. At least he didn’t fall asleep in a meeting any more. That had been and still was… best not talked about.

James’ smirk had Herc want to sock him one.

As it was, he was busy, even without the everyday matters of the Shatterdome piling up around him. James had turned the matter of relocating the old but still functional Jaegers over to Herc, who had glowered at him.

“It’s light work. Just what you need.” And then he had been gone.

Herc had briefly thought about siccing Max on Bond, but then had decided against it. The dog didn’t deserve it.

The relocation project had come up in the past months. In the beginning, the PPDC had been almost gung-ho about the new Mark-VIs, but with the cost of rebuilding the destroyed infrastructure, political unrest and budget matters coming up more and more often, a new decision had been made: the older Jaegers that had been carried off to Oblivion Bay would be reactivated.

Not all had been completely destroyed by the Kaijus. Not all were beyond repair. Gipsy Danger had shown everyone that it could be done and that the costs were minimal compared to a new set of Jaegers. Epic North would remain the only Mark-VI in Hong Kong. Skyfall Prime was now undergoing upgrades and reconfigurations. She would end up being a Mark-III without a nuclear core, but with heavy EMP shielding like all future Jaegers. Skyfall would be faster, sleeker, almost on the same level as Striker Eureka had been, with specialized weapons. She would keep her designation as a Mark-III, though techs were already calling her a ‘2.0’. Herc had had to smile at that.

All the other Jaegers currently on an upgrade and retrofit list would get tagged ‘Six’ or even ‘Seven’. Tacit Ronin Six was coming along nicely.

The Los Angeles Shatterdome had been chosen as the place for all reconfigurations and reconstructions since the location of Oblivion Bay near San Francisco made L.A. a prime choice. All bays inside the reactivated Shatterdome were filled and whoever wasn’t needed to service the Vancouver and Hong Kong Jaegers had already relocated to L.A.

Herc was getting a lot of reports and updates on what was happening. It was uplifting to read about it, about how many damaged Jaegers had been moved, even the Mark-Is.

Another matter coming to his desk was the work done on the new A.I. interface units for the new Jaegers. Epic North was still running on the old system, but Hermann and Q had been hip-deep in the development of a new A.I. for the same amount of months as the reconstruction had been going on now. Herc agreed that the upgrade of the A.I. was important to handle the new components of the Jaegers, and Q had reassured him that neither he nor Hermann intended to develop an independent system that might act semi-consciously or might even become aware.

That had been a chief concern.

Herc had been in enough Drifts to understand the importance of the A.I., but he wouldn’t get into a neural handshake with anyone if that program was a third party that could think for itself, make its own decisions.

Q was also currently researching into the impact the human mind and the neural handshake were having on the program. Few scientists had actually tackled the questions as to how much the human mind influenced the programming, what it might leave behind after Drifts. Herc had been in a meeting just the day before, hearing about odd spikes and trace amounts of non-original programming.

“It’s nothing dangerous, just a curious by-product,” Q had told him calmly. “Our Drifts don’t change the A.I., nor can it influence the pilots. But we have it with us in the Drifts, so it is part of the neural handshake, and trace can be found when one digs deep enough.”

Gottlieb had been there, too, looking both appalled and fascinated.

“Is it dangerous?” Herc had asked matter-of-fact.

“No. I sincerely doubt that Drift contact can lead to such a profound change in the programming that the A.I. starts to act on its own.”

“But we will implement safety protocols,” Hermann had added immediately. “To insure nothing like that can happen.”

“Good plan.”

 

 

His son had become more balanced. The temper outbursts had disappeared. He still hovered, he still looked a lot more worried than ever before, but at least he didn’t insist on hanging around his father 24/7.

Epic North was needed for work down near the Breach, which helped bring back some routine. The sensor array was growing and the early warning system was up and running, though in a very basic fashion. Fine-tuning would need to be done over the next months. For now it was enough.

Newton was still rallying for a mobile survey station down there, but Herc had yet to actually see a point. They had the sensors, they had the Jaegers, and there was talk about remote controlled probes. He didn’t see the point in having people down there, especially ones not protected inside a Jaeger, and the PPDC agreed with him.

Not that it fazed Newt in any way. He simply made a nuisance of himself and went on every available dive with any kind of Jaeger. Since Epic had yet to get a passenger seat installation, Geiszler was restricted to Skyfall. The Vancouver Jaegers had no additional seats either, so Q and Bond had been designated caretakers, baby-sitters and taxi drivers. Bond took it with good humor. Q, being a frequent lab partner of both head K-scientists, was used to Newton’s exuberance.

Right now, Herc was in LOCCENT, sitting at Tendo’s side as Epic dove, listening to the chatter, letting the normalcy wash over him.

It was routine.

It was familiar.

It felt good.

And it was good to see the strong, balanced and steady Drift Chuck and Raleigh were on.

Epic was to deliver material and parts to where Quantum Solace and Diamond Omega were working, then head out and away from the Breach for a set of new scans. If possible, they were to collect a few more of the remaining Kaiju remnants. There was enough material swimming in the ocean still.

For now it was important to clean the oceans of the Kaiju blood spilled in it, as well as whatever pieces were floating around. The scrubber, as Newton had dubbed what was currently put together near the Breach, would take care of that in the area, but more would have to be set up all over the Pacific Rim to clean the oceans.

It would take time.

A lot of time.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” Chuck could be heard, sounding relaxed and happy.

He had always been at his happiest inside a Conn-Pod, Herc mused with a fine smile. He was one of the damn best pilots out there and he was still getting better.

“ETA one hour,” Raleigh added. “How’s the party down there, guys?”

“Boring,” Felix Leiter answered with an audible grin. “No Kaiju butt to kick.”

“Just a lot of radiation and carcasses,” Raleigh replied.

“Got that right.”

Light banter floated back and forth and Herc let it wash over him. A smile played over his lips.

A beep reminded him of his appointment and he sighed. Tendo raised an eyebrow.

“Torture chamber?”

Herc laughed softly. “Yeah. Another round.”

“Have fun, sir.”

“Oh, I will.”

Or not.

 

tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

Rehab didn’t get any easier. Olivia drilled him like Herc would have taught a recruit that being a Ranger wasn’t a piece of cake. She was relentless and he cursed her every step of the way.

She took it stoically.

“Heard worse,” she told the exhausted, sweating man. “Learned a few new colloquialisms.”

Herc gave a breathy laugh that had his lung twinge. “Shit,” he whispered.

“You’re doing great,” she told him. “I know Dr. Lee said there is no lasting damage and you will get your lung capacity back. Same for the hand.”

The hand that burned like hell from the exercises. But Herc knew it was necessary. He knew everything he had endured was necessary. He wasn’t a desk jockey. He kept in shape despite being more of an administrator than a pilot these days. He could still beat any of the hopefuls in the Kwoon with one arm tied behind his back.

He had shown a few just what it took to be a Ranger when there had been cocky talk about old men and stepping down.

Actually, Herc had interceded before Chuck had blown a gasket. His boy was easy to rouse when it came to taunts against the Hansens.

Then again, there had been a few incidents that had made it all the way to him involving Q. Kian Whitmarsh didn’t look the part of the hard-assed Jaeger pilot and it had made him the target of behind-the-back talks. That had quickly evaporated when he had taken apart three of the worst bullies in a hard and fast session.

Bond had been nothing but smug and proud for days.

Herc almost laughed at the memory of the stunned faces and the sharply whispered conversations.

“Okay, Marshall,” Olivia drew him out of his musings. “I think we’re done for today. Same time tomorrow.”

He groaned. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She smiled, pleased.

Herc cursed the day he was born.

 

* * *

 

It took James Bond almost two weeks to get Herc as far as he was now, ready to surrender and give in. Two weeks of hard work, recruiting Mako and Tendo for his cause, even his own son, goddamnit! Two weeks where his second in command was always there, reminding him that it was a necessary evil, though he didn’t put it into those words, not even into as many, and always, always with the looks.

There was no triumph in the glacially blue eyes when Herc finally caved. Bond was looking at him, calm and composed and ready to strike again should Herc find another, useless argument, but the Marshall had truly surrendered. There was only so much a man could take.

“Yeah, yeah, you can gloat now,” Hansen growled.

“I’m not. Actually, I’m glad you finally said yes.”

“You know it means you’re running this gig for a while longer,” Herc told him. There was only a small sliver of dark satisfaction running through him at the thought.

James wasn’t the administrative guy. He was a pilot through and through. Like Herc. And like Herc he had risen to the new challenges and had battled them admirably. Running a Shatterdome wasn’t as easy as piloting a Jaeger and kicking a Kaiju’s butt, but it was a battle nevertheless.

And Bond had made it his personal goal to win whatever battle he entered.

The Brit smiled easily at him. “I’m getting the hang of things.”

“You can have the job,” Herc grumbled.

“Already got it. And I like the sound of ‘deputy’ to the rank. It means you can take over this madhouse when you get back. Rested and relaxed.”

Herc snorted.

“And take Chuck with you. You both need some time off.”

Herc gave a bark of laughter. “Didn’t you just say rest and relax? We’ll kill each other within a week.”

“That’s six days and twenty-three hours longer than your usual time.”

“Shut up, Bond.”

“You know that’s your chance, right?” The wintery eyes were calm and serious, boring into Herc’s.

“To drive each other insane?” he snapped.

“To be a family.”

The Marshall froze, glaring. “We are family, Bond!”

“Yes, you are. By name. And if you had seen the way your kid was close to breaking over this accident, you wouldn’t argue. This is a chance you might not get again. Take two weeks. Make it three, for all I care. The Shatterdome will still be here.”

Herc stared at him, thoughts whirling. Of course he knew how close Chuck had been to the edge, the very real possibility of his father dying on his mind. It had always been there, the danger of dying in a fight. It had been an acceptable risk because…

… because most likely it would have taken them both at the same time.

Chuck had never had to face the very real fact that his father might die before him. And especially not because of some stoned tech.

Herc recalled the expression in his son’s face when he had first woke. All shields down, naked fear, desperation, a soul-deep pain, all there for him to see.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Bond just smiled, then gave a lazy salute and disappeared.

Herc sighed and shook his head. He slowly made his way to his quarters to start packing. Time away sounded good. Actually, it sounded very good. He hadn’t had a vacation since…

He stopped and closed his eyes.

Since Angela’s death. He hadn’t been anything but a pilot, a Ranger, then later the Marshall after Pentecost’s sacrifice. He had failed at being a father. He hadn’t taken his kid fishing or hiking or to a game since that fateful day.

Herc sat down on his bed, wincing a little as his body reminded him that he still wasn’t back in shape.

Maybe it really was a good idea to ask Chuck along.

A slow smile crept over his lips. Yeah, maybe it was time that he and his boy had some time alone. Without the Drift, things needed to be dealt with differently. And a lot of those ‘things’ had accumulated.

 

*

 

Chuck stared at him. Stared hard. And wanted to know if Herc was serious.

“I am.”

“You and me?”

“Yeah.” He felt a moment of insecurity, something he wasn’t used to.

“Uh.” Chuck still looked slightly flabbergasted, caught between head-on confrontation and flight. “Why?” he then managed.

Herc’s heart sank. Like a stone. “They’re kicking me on leave,” he heard himself say. “I thought it would be a good idea.”

Chuck was clearly working through something, his face an open book, and still Herc found it hard to read. To understand. To react to the confusion.

“And Raleigh suggested a trip?”

Herc simply nodded.

“That’s crazy!”

The Marshall smiled thinly. “I know. I had to ask before he does. I’ll be off tomorrow morning. Try to behave yourself.”

With that he turned.

A strong hand held him back, lightly wrapped around his good arm’s wrist. Chuck’s expression was intense, his eyes burning with something he hadn’t shown Herc all too often. As of late, the barriers between them had fallen faster, had shown the two men more of the other.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I want to go.”

To say that Herc was slightly floored was an understatement, but the hopeful expression, the light in Chuck’s eyes, told him that he had heard correctly.

They would have time together. Alone. Like family.

For the first time since… since that day.

He felt a smile cross his lips, shakily mirrored by Chuck, then his son stepped back and reasserted his shields. Tough-as-nails Ranger. Hard-ass pilot. Chuck Hansen.

“Pack your stuff,” he ordered gruffly, fighting down the warm wave of emotions. “Cold weather gear.”

“Yes, sir,” was the smart-mouthed reply.

Herc allowed himself a wider smile as his son walked briskly down the corridor, heading for his own place.

Damn.

 

*

 

Raleigh looked absolutely… Chuck hated to call it happy. But that was Raleigh’s expression and he despised him for it. A lot. Enough to let his temper flare and bare his teeth.

Not that it deterred his partner.

“You need this, Chuck,” Raleigh said. “Both of you. You and Herc have a lot to talk about.”

That about did it. A few words and the lid was off the emotional tinder box. “Don’t make me into a girl, Becket! We’re not going to bare our souls and talk about whatnot!”

Chuck felt a hot anger course through him at the mere suggestion. He and his father didn’t talk about emotions. They never had. And what had happened in the past weeks, his own breakdown, his loss of control, were a one-time thing. He wasn’t weak and never would be!

That always present, volatile nature, the anger ready to strike and leave bleeding gashes was Chuck’s defense when matters got too close for comfort for him. It was what had cemented the fact that the Hansens didn’t talk outside a drift, that their relationship was rocky at best. It was what had psychologists tag them as unstable and possibly reassigned to other Drift partners if matters spiraled out of control.

It was what was permanently on Chuck’s mind, that sentence spoken by some shrinks who had no idea how he and his father had worked and still did.

“I’m not.” There was a small, private smile on Raleigh’s lips. “If I had the chance with… with my family, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I know that you and Herc always had the Drift and that it’s not there anymore. It’s what had me and Yance talking, too. Sometimes about stuff we really would have loved to keep out of a conversation, but it cleared the air. And it got us talking, too. After we did a different kind of talking before that.”

Chuck swallowed hard. Damn that man! All his anger derailed, making a beautiful wreck in the back of his mind, dissipating into nothingness.

“I hate you,” he managed.

Raleigh smiled, his eyes still almost wistful. “I know. And it was a great start to what we are now.”

“Fuck you, Rah-leigh!” he snarled furiously.

Raleigh looped his fingers into the waistband of Chuck’s PPDC-issue pants, pulling him close into a nipping, teasing kiss. Chuck cursed himself for being so easy, for wanting this, for letting anyone do this to him.

Letting Raleigh…

He growled and took Becket’s lips in a bruising kiss, hard and open and desperate. Raleigh’s fingers dug into his pants, his shirt, pulling him closer, answering the harsh nips and little bites with just as much fervor.

Chuck finally drew back, eyes burning, that hated lump in his throat. His hands rested on the broad chest, feeling each rise and fall, feeling warmth and solidity. He knew those hard planes, those absolutely insane abs, and he loved them. He loved all of this man, right down to the stupid hair and the stupid eyes.

Raleigh’s fingers played over his cheek, cupping his face, then a last kiss was brushed over his lips.

“Go.”

“Not yet,” he murmured, licking and nipping at the other man’s lips. “Not just yet.”

Chuck slipped his hands underneath Raleigh’s shirt, over the firm, warm skin, feeling muscles twitch. A slow smile crawled over the American’s face and he grabbed Chuck’s hips, pulling him in close.

“Okay, not yet,” Raleigh agreed, then caught his lips, swallowing Chuck’s reply.

 

* * *

 

Mako stood by Raleigh’s side as he watched the helicopter whisk Chuck and Herc away to their time off, their first vacation as a family ever since Angela Hansen’s death. There was a small smile on his lips and she mirrored it as she glanced at her friend.

“Deputy Marshall Bond has scheduled a Drop,” she remarked.

“I know.”

“You still believe in us?”

Raleigh gave her a bright, open smile. “I never doubted us, Mako. Itching for a Drop?”

She lifted a corner of her mouth.

They both walked back inside, companionable silence between them, and stopped where Epic North was undergoing the regular checks. She would be ready to go tomorrow morning and he was actually looking forward to it.

Even without Chuck.

Mako was a known factor, was a strong Drift partner, and they had made it back out of the Breach together. He hoped the awkwardness of what she might see in their Drift, him and Chuck and so many personal details of them, wouldn’t throw them.

“You worry too much, Ranger Becket,” Mako said, briefly touching his forearm and squeezing gently. “I know you. You know me. We both know Chuck. There is nothing new between us.”

Just the fact that he knew Chuck in a very different way. Raleigh chuckled a little.

“Probably.”

And still there would be anyway.

But they could work like this.

 

* * *

 

Hong Kong hadn’t changed much over the past months since the end of the Kaiju war. The Bone Slums were as busy and chaotic as always. The black market entrepreneurs like Hannibal Chau had their hands full selling Kaiju parts and Kaiju remedies. The city itself was struggling to rebuild after the last attack, to erase the scars. Whole blocks had come down throughout Otachi’s rampage and so far there were heaps of rubble where skyscrapers had once stood.

Life went on.

Humanity struggled and survived.

In the Shatterdome, James Bond struggled with not just throwing his tablet down into the water and be done with it. Being the acting Marshall of the Shatterdome came with a lot of bureaucracy and a nightmarish amount of reports, emails and waiting calls. He was simply glad that Mako, his second-in-command was so hellishly good at those matters. She had had the best training in the world at Pentecost’s side, being his right hand, and James trusted her to handle some matters without his input.

And she did.

Currently he was reading over reports on the pilot-AI-interface after a neural bridge was established in a Drift. Q was deeply involved in that area and he had caught little Ghosts from his partner now and then.

The Ghosts between them were ever-present. Even without a Drift for weeks now, they hadn’t diminished in strength. He knew it was a matter of great interest to some scientists, but he refused to become a guinea pig. He gave in now and then, mostly at Kian’s gentle reminder, and filled out a questionnaire, but that was where his cooperation ended.

This was a private matter. This was between him and his partner and co-pilot.

Bond found himself wanting the Ghosts. It was so much part of them, their partnership, their relationship, he couldn’t remember not having them. It was intensely personal and intimate, and it was only for them to have.

It also gave him a good insight into Kian’s status, like right now. He caught a few fleeting hums of excitement, fragments of something that could be a Drift memory or a real time projection, and he found himself heading for Q’s lab.

Where he found his partner.

Ever since Herc’s accident, Bond had had a lot on his desk. Q had been busy in K-science or with the upgrade of the Jaeger AIs, as well as redesigning the reactivated Mark-II and Mark-IIIs. He had holed himself up in his lab or in one of the K-science departments, and when James had finally made it out of the office, he rarely found Kian in their quarters.

They saw each other, they exchanged fleeting touches and a kiss or two, but privacy, intimacy, was sorely missing.

He walked into the lab and homed in on where Q was in a corner area, looking at what was just a gaggle of numbers and weird symbols to Bond, though he caught the gist of it through the psychic link. The connection to Q didn’t make him a scientist, let alone a genius like Kian, but it helped sometimes.

“Hey,” Q greeted him, a smile on his youthful, narrow features.

“Hey.”

It was late and it was a Friday.

Throughout the war that wouldn’t have meant anything, but normalcy was back. There were work hours and shifts, there was vacation time, overtime and defined work weeks. Most scientists had a Monday to Friday schedule, mostly from nine to five as the core work hours. Those who worked with a project that couldn’t be run within the normal time had shifts. And the mechanics and engineers were on rotating shifts anyway, like the command crew.

Q, who wasn’t officially a scientist, fell under no core work hours, like all Jaeger pilots. They had scheduled trainings and Drops, worked with the tech crews sometimes, but generally their time table was a very different one.

So Q worked in the labs in his free time.

“Working late?” Q asked.

“I could ask you the same.”

He shrugged. “I’m running a simulation.”

Bond looked at the indecipherable numbers and symbols with a grunt.

Q tilted his head. “Or have you come for an update on the AI interface, Marshall Bond?”

He snorted, brows lowering a little at the title. “I get gigabytes of updates from Dr. Gottlieb.”

“We expect to test the new additions to the core programming within the next three months.”

“And make Jaegers more intelligent and interactive?”

“No. Giving the AI sentience is very far from our minds. Sentience would complicate the neural handshake and possibly upset the Pons so much that it could lead to a breakdown.” Q typed a command and the simulation went dark. “Dr. Gottlieb has speculated that adjusting the Jaeger AI to respond to dire situations concerning a pilot might be a possibility in the future. To take the neural load off the one pilot still operative, for example.”

“How sentient would it be?”

“It would be a failsafe program, nothing more,” Q replied calmly. “The AI can’t maneuver the Jaeger without two conscious, interacting pilots. The sheer amount of server space needed for these kind of calculations would render all Jaeger specifications obsolete. The human brain can’t be copied, only aided.”

Bond frowned. He didn’t like some of the implications, but he knew it was necessary to keep developing the AIs.

“There has been talk of another kind, though,” Q added and he sounded a little more careful now.

James caught a stray Ghost and his brows rose.

“It’s something down the line in the future, but it might be possible.”

He shook his head. “Not that I can claim that I understand the idea, but a pilot in a neural connection to a machine that delivers feedback to the pilot to keep him informed of massive damage, to caution him, gets that feedback, no matter where he is.”

“To take the pilots out of the Jaeger would enable us to disconnect the human brain before the Jaeger is destroyed by a Kaiju.”

“Not sure I want to download into a system and leave my body in a pod in the labs,” the current Marshall said darkly.

Q nodded and walked around his desk to stand in front of his partner. “It’s very far in the future, James, but something people are looking into. The human mind can’t be fully downloaded into a machine.”

“Yet,” James finished the sentence, meeting the dark eyes.

“Yet. We didn’t think it possible to interface with another human mind, to Drift, to create the neural handshake, either.”

The Ghost fluctuated more, grew closer, and Bond closed the last distance, sliding a calloused hand along Q’s neck to cup the pale face.

He leaned down and kissed his partner’s lips, savoring the soft contact, feeling the stirrings of a hunger he hadn’t been able to sate as of late. Q smiled against his lips and nipped at them.

“You done, Q?” Bond murmured, wintery eyes reflecting what he felt.

“My work is never done.”

He smiled and leaned down to lightly trail little bites along the long neck. Q closed his eyes and he felt the soft groan more than he heard it.

“Forty-eight hours,” James rumbled. “Just us. Mako’s running things.”

“Just us?”

Bond nodded, holding Q close, enjoying the solid warmth. “Platinum Towers has a suite with our name on it. All inclusive. Complete privacy and the best view of Tokyo.”

Q grinned. “Are you trying to woo me, Marshall Bond?”

“Is it working?”

Kian wrapped his arms around him and held him close as he kissed him. “Apparently.”

“Good. Because we’re leaving tonight.”

“Hm, sounds good.”

“I only have good ideas, Q.”

His co-pilot chuckled. “So you claim.” Q slipped his hands under his partner’s jacket, sliding his palms over the black t-shirt he wore. “When’s our flight?”

“The moment you have packed.”

“Abusing Marshall privileges?”

“You can bloody well count on that.”

It earned James another quick kiss, then Q drew back. “Then I should go packing.”

He could feel Kian; closely. Without touching physically they were still together. He would never tire of him, would never tire of what they had, and the attraction had yet to dim. People might talk about how different they were, how much Kian Whitmarsh wasn’t the type James Bond had preferred in the past, but they were the ones who didn’t know them.

Who didn’t… couldn’t understand.

Few could; all of them were Jaeger pilots or knew the truth and depth about Drifting.

Bond watched Q leave the lab, feeling his body respond to the sight of the slender figure, to the knowledge that they had forty-eight hours in Tokyo together. He felt the whispering caress of the psychic connection between them, like a promise that this was for them, only them, and he quickly went after his Drift partner.

He needed to pack.

 

* * *

 

Sending Chuck and Herc Hansen on a vacation in an enclosed, though mobile, space had been an… experimental idea. It had actually been Raleigh’s.

Back then it had sounded good.

Now it was ludicrous.

Go somewhere remote, away from the water, away from people. Well, not all people, but right now, in the middle of nowhere, the next gas station two hundred kilometers away, the last grocery store one hundred kilometers behind them, Chuck felt like they were all on their own.

In a car. Well, not a car. A motorhome. A very nice, big motorhome. A rental.

Chuck had taken one look at it and had wanted to bail.

Herc had simply smiled and started to throw their stuff inside.

“This is such a bad idea.”

Fuck Raleigh and his stupid smile and even more stupid plans. So what if he and his folks had gone on camping vacations? Chuck never had and he had no idea how to camp in a motorhome.

Then again, his dad apparently did, because he was enthusiastically going over every detail with the rental agent, signing their lives away, and then gave Chuck a wide smile.

Fuck.

He was so screwed.

 

 

Actually, it wasn’t all that bad, he decided a day into their little adventure, even if they truly were in the middle of bloody nowhere. And even if it rained. And even if it was too cold for his liking.

Herc enjoyed himself.

He hadn’t seen his father this relaxed in a long, long time.

So Chuck tried to relax, too.

It was hard.

And it resulted in verbal spars that reminded him of the good old days.

So they fought, made up, and Chuck got a sense of family that had been absent for almost ten years. A happiness, a togetherness, something new for Chuck in the absence of the ever-present danger of the Kaijus and the possibility to Drift.

This was them Drifting… without a neural bridge. Getting to know each other after the not-end of the world.

This was Chuck having… family moments. He knew from the past Drifts that Herc blamed himself for a lot of things, for making the wrong decisions.

Back then they were the only decisions to be made.

Before his wife’s death, Hercules Hansen had been just about to leave the military, to be a father only, but then Angela had been killed. The only decision left for him was to fight back.

It really had been the only one.

Chuck hadn’t understood it as a child, but it had sunk in after the Drifts together.

Herc had tried to be a father and a soldier, and in the end he had only ever managed to be the soldier. It was what he had been all his life, what he had fallen back upon, and his child had… never had a childhood. He had raised his son inside a Shatterdome, had raised him to be a Jaeger pilot.

And Chuck had never wanted to be anything else.

Now they were something else. Now they had a different kind of relationship. The remote places helped, the small towns that consisted of a gas station, a restaurant, a grocery store, and a campground attached to one of the prior three. And then a long stretch of road with nothing but nature and the occasional truck or other motorhome.

Chuck felt something inside of him unravel.

In a good way.

 

 

They came home stronger.

They were family.

 

tbc...


	9. Chapter 9

Two weeks later Chuck and Herc were back. Raleigh couldn’t stop the happy smile breaking through and he knew he looked like a loon, but he was happy to see his partner. He was happy to see him so relaxed and happy himself, and he was glad to see the same emotions on Herc’s face.

“It worked,” he said softly.

Mako gave him a raised eyebrow. “Of course.”

He gave her a little elbow push and she chuckled.

“I believe you and Chuck should… reunite, don’t you think?”

“Two weeks working with me in my head and you’re entitled to ambiguous comments?”

Another raised eyebrow.

Raleigh laughed. “Yeah. Okay.”

He didn’t move, though. He watched the two men unpack, then caught Chuck’s eye. His partner grinned brightly, looking incredibly at ease. Young. So very much younger than normally. Yes, Chuck was only twenty-two, but he looked older most of the time. The way he had grown up had hardened him in so many ways and there were few times he dropped all his masks.

Like now.

“Hey there,” Raleigh greeted him when the younger man walked over to him, amenable, with a lazy smile on his lips.

“Hey there?” Chuck echoed. “Is that all I get after two weeks, Rah-leigh?”

“Keep it in your pants, boys,” Herc called, amusement in his voice.

“He didn’t say anything about this,” Chuck murmured and pulled Raleigh close, catching his lips, teeth dragging a little about Raleigh’s lower lip.

“No, he didn’t,” Becket agreed.

“Make it a G-rating, rangers,” Mako remarked wryly.

“You take all the fun out of it,” Chuck grumbled, but he stepped back, though his expression was anything but G-rated. It was downright NC-17.

“My apologies.”

Mako met his eyes, not even blushing a little bit at what was clearly written all over his face.

Chuck glowered at her, but there was no mistaking what he wanted to do to Raleigh, with Raleigh, and Raleigh himself wasn’t all that averse to it either. Two weeks might not be a long time, but Chuck was a healthy twenty-two year old male and Raleigh easily kept up with him in that department.

“Not believing it.”

“That is up to you, Chuck Hansen,” Mako replied airily.

And she disappeared into the depth of the Shatterdome.

Chuck was right in Raleigh’s space again, eyes heated, his intent crystal clear.

“Like Miss Mori said: get a room,” Herc told them as he walked past, his travel bag slung over one shoulder. “Away from mine.”

“Yes, sir,” Raleigh replied.

Chuck slapped a hand against his chest, mock-glowering at him. Raleigh just kissed him again, then maneuvered them toward the elevator to the top floor where their apartment was.

“Why don’t you salute the Marshall, too?” Hansen snarled.

“I would.”

“Yeah, you would.”

“Raleigh brushed his fingers over Chuck’s lightly stubbled cheek, smiling softly at his outraged expression, which was starting to change slowly into something softer.

Something Chuck tried no to show.

There wasn’t just lust and hunger. There was something more, something Chuck didn’t voice, didn’t confess to actually feeling, and Raleigh loved catching him off guard sometimes. Like now.

He bent down, brushing their lips together, none of the heat of before involved, and Chuck’s fingers curled into his waistband, going with the flow, with the softness, gentleness.

It wouldn’t last.

Not when Chuck was so intent to catch up on those two weeks.

The blue-gray eyes reflected a lot, something intimate, private, only for Raleigh, and he smiled. Nipping at Chuck’s lower lip he stepped back as the elevator doors opened.

There was no one waiting on their level and no words were spoken as they walked the short distance to the apartment.

Two steps into the room had Raleigh spun around and pushed into the next wall by a warm solid weight by the name of Chuck Hansen. His wrists were pressed against the wall by a firm grip, a pair of lips descended onto his neck, making his heart jump with excitement.

Teeth bit lightly into his skin, teasing, barely leaving a mark, then a tongue and lips followed. Sucking. Definitely leaving a mark in a place that had little bolts of pleasure shoot through him. It was a place that Chuck had discovered early on in their relationship, a hot spot that had Raleigh fight for control.

“Chuck…” he breathed, doing just that.

“Shut up, Ray.”

“I…”

“You’re normally so good at following orders. How about you do so now?”

It was a purr. Definitely a purr. Low and sultry, aiming at his lust center, by-passing the rational parts of his brain with a wink and leaving him weak-kneed all of a sudden.

The next bite was a little harder, not breaking the skin, but firing him up even more.

“Fuck…”

“Oh, we’ll be getting there soon enough.”

Fingers slipped underneath his shirt, caressing bare skin in the process, while the other hand dipped lower.

“Miss me?” Chuck murmured, nipping and licking at Raleigh’s ear, cheek and neck.

“I guess.”

That got him a playful bite against the jaw. Raleigh yelped.

He curled an arm around the slender waist, pulling the solid form against himself, and Chuck was only too willing to dive into the kiss.

Their lips met, a collision of body parts, and hands suddenly clutched the other to keep from falling over.

It was like kerosene and a spark. It was an explosion.

It was a battle of wills, as always, a fight for dominance that neither could really win. It was a matter of who wanted to give in this time, who would surrender for now, and it was a game for both men. Their relationship, tumultuous and stormy sometimes, would become this strange kind of balance, a connection they both nurtured and craved, something that bound them on more than just the sexual level. It was a give and take, back and forth, a mixture of lust-driven, hungry need, and the calmer moments when just the presence of the other was enough.

Raleigh couldn’t really put it into words. It was too much to describe, too unique for him to really use mundane words, and within their Drifts he had found the same emotions in Chuck.

They didn’t have wild sex all the time. Leisurely sex was wonderful and blowjobs were fantastic, and getting Chuck off with his mouth and fingers alone was a sight to behold. Then there were the moments when they were just together, sharing space, touching, maybe soft kisses, but nothing else.

He loved those moments.

They were more intimate than any kind of sex.

Now he let the younger man take over, gave in to the force of nature Chuck Hansen was. Raleigh ran caressing hands over the solid body, kept him close, subtly guiding the kiss into something deep and emotional and less frantic, though the hunger was still there.

Yes, he had missed Chuck. In more ways than just the physical one.

Chuck pushed back, breathing hard, looking at Raleigh with an almost feral expression.

“Missed you,” Chuck whispered harshly. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Hm, I know.”

“And two days!”

“I know,” Raleigh repeated.

“And we were twenty miles past the end of the world!” Chuck complained.

“That I know, too.”

“In a motorhome!”

Raleigh carded his fingers into the reddish brown hair, smiling softly. There was no real anger in Chuck’s voice. He looked too relaxed to have had a bad time. He had tanned a little, but it hadn’t been the time of year to run around in a t-shirt.

“And you had fun.”

Chuck grunted, pushing him back against the wall again, taking his mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss.

“I’m not interested in holiday memories right now!” he hissed.

“I noticed.”

“Good. Because I want you to do something about it.”

Raleigh cocked a playful eyebrow. “Care to give me a hint?”

Chuck’s temper rose like a tidal wave, his emotions flaring, and Raleigh swallowed his reply in another kiss.

It was long. It was deep. It was hot. It relayed more than any words could have. There was hunger and need and gentleness and sheer raw sex. Raleigh was ready to come here and now. In his pants. Didn't care.

Groping hands were everywhere, Running up his pants, suddenly underneath his shirt, skipping over his stomach. His own hands worked on the Australian’s pants in turn and Chuck groaned sharply when he curled his fingers around the hard dick.

Raleigh ended the kiss with a sharp nip, then sank to his knees to take Chuck into his mouth.

Chuck gave a groan, his head falling back against the wall, fingers twitching against Raleigh’s head. His world shrunk down to one particular sensation, one feeling, one need.

Raleigh.

Yes, Raleigh could take a hint.

 

* * *

 

Herc had thrown his bag into his quarters, then had gone off in search for Bond. He had run into Q first, who had given him a bright smile in welcome.

“Where’s your other half?” Herc asked.

The pilot’s eyes reflected humor and his lips curled into a small smile. While they didn’t flaunt their relationship, there was no doubt about them being two halves of one whole. Herc had seen it in little things, gestures, looks, the way Q seemed to appear when James needed him, when he needed to take a break. The same went for Bond, who migrated into the hangar, the lab or wherever Q was immersed in one of his projects, and he would manage to get his partner away from whatever he was working on.

“Jaeger bay, I suppose,” Q now answered. “It’s where I left him after the latest stress tests on Skyfall’s hull.”

“Uh-huh. Live run scheduled soon?”

“As soon as you are reinstated officially.”

“Grab your gear then, Q. I’m back.”

“James will be very happy to hear this.”

He smirked. “And here I thought I had to move him out of my office with a crowbar.”

Q chuckled. “I suspect he already cleared the place. Not that he ever lived there.”

Neither did Herc, but he spent a lot of time in the office nevertheless.

 

 

He found Bond where Q had told him he would be: the Jaeger bay. James was talking to one of the supervisors assigned to Skyfall, but he walked over to Herc when he discovered the other man.

“Enjoyed your vacation?”

“Yeah, it was good.”

“I see your head’s still attached.”

Herc grimaced. “We don’t routinely tear each other a new one.”

“I heard differently.”

He glared at his second in command, but Bond only smiled lop-sidedly. “Reports are in your inbox. Nothing crucial happened. Q and I are taking Skyfall out for a swim, but that’s about it. Raleigh and Mako did a few milk runs to the sensor grid. M called and we had a pleasant chat about Marshall duties. He had too much fun with that.”

Herc laughed. “Sounds like him.”

“And pointing out the job fits me.” Bond gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Before you start thinking about taking over Sydney and vacate this one, don’t. You can have yours back.”

“Too bad. M’s right, though.”

“No way.” Bond shook his head, eyes straying to his Jaeger. “I’d miss that too much.”

Herc felt a kind of melancholy wash over him. He missed that, too. Drifting. With Chuck. Being in a Conn-Pod, feeling the Jaeger, being the Jaeger, that incredible sensation that no one could put into words.

“Let’s get some coffee, then you can brief me on everything else,” the Marshall decided.

Bond nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

* * *

 

Chuck leaned over Raleigh and gave the soft lips a gentle kiss. His hands strayed over the sweaty body and a faint tremor answered the touch. The last hours had passed in a whirl of heated pleasure and incredible satisfaction. All of him was still highly sensitive, just like Raleigh, and even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to get it up again.

But he was playful.

And Raleigh liked playful.

Chuck’s eyes fell on the red lines, faint against the more tanned skin but still very visible, following a path Hansen knew as well as any pilot: Drivesuit circuitry.

And he had seen the multiple scars often enough, knew their origin, the pain, the loss, the desperation and the darkness that had accompanied them. He had been in Raleigh’s head, had been there, in that moment when Yancy had died, when everything had gone to hell, and he knew how much was connected to the marks.

How intimate this touch was, even now, after months of being together, was another known fact.

Chuck ran explorative finger tips over the scars along Raleigh’s back, four lines wrapping horizontally around his left ribcage. They looked almost artful; like a tattoo. He caressed them, drawing a little hitched breath out of the other man. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the nearest web of scars, letting his tongue bathe it briefly before drawing back and looking into those baby blues.

What he saw left him breathless.

What he saw had him want… want something… badly.

For an insane moment he wanted to say something, something very stupid, very personal, very… not him.

He tried to break the connection, look away, but he couldn’t.

Raleigh wrapped a hand around his neck and drew Chuck into a kiss. Slow, deep, expressing so much without talking.

No words.

He leaned into the contact, answered the kiss with everything he felt, all that was normally hidden behind his masks, all that was deflected with sharp words and his smart mouth.

Raleigh knew him, had seen and felt it all. He knew Chuck like only Herc ever had.

It was scary.

It was… freeing.

It defined their relationship so well. No words needed. Chuck let a hand slide up the naked side, following the gentle curve of the ribs and splaying his fingers across the smooth, well-defined chest. Raleigh carded his fingers into the ginger strands, caressing Chuck in turn.

His lips dragged up Chuck’s jaw to his ear. “I know,” he murmured.

He closed his eyes and fought back his immediate response to push him back, to shut down and snap at the other man.

Raleigh knew. Raleigh accepted. Raleigh was determined and stubborn and he simply didn’t give up.

Fuck, Chuck thought as he fought through his emotions. Fuckfuckfuck!

“Chuck.”

His fingers dug into the mattress, bunching up the sheets, muscles tense.

Raleigh’s fingers massaged his neck, strong and heavy and warm against his skin.

“I know,” he simply repeated.

Chuck buried his face against the other man’s neck, exhaling sharply, felt Raleigh’s arms around him, and the tension flowed out of him again.

He knew. No secrets, no lies. He knew.

“I hate you so much,” he murmured, without rancor, heat or truth in his words.

Raleigh’s chuckle was soft and deep, his fingernails trailing over Chuck’s back and neck. Chuck felt his eyes slide shut, falling into a doze, the caresses making him relax.

 

 

He had no idea how long they actually stayed in bed.

There was a shower. Including shower sex.

Then food.

And a blow job from Raleigh that had Chuck come so hard as he watched the blond suck him off. It was the sexiest thing in the world.

They did leave after a while. Both feeling sore. Both not regretting a single thing.

The shit-eating grin Tendo exchanged with Mako had Raleigh raise his eyebrows at them. Chuck just glared darkly and stalked off with a grumbled curse and some very censored remarks.

But he felt good.

Incredibly good and very much at peace with himself and the world.

 

* * *

 

James Bond felt languid, relaxed, like nothing in the world could make him move from his current position. In bed, with Q, no pressing matters to attend to, no scheduled Drop; nothing at all. Everything was calm and quiet.

He wouldn’t dare to think ‘too calm and too quiet’. That was a thing of the past when the Breach had been open and spewing forth Kaijus. He was still a Jaeger pilot, he had risen to the position of second in command of the Hong Kong Shatterdome, but the disquiet in the back of his mind was gone.

It had been abating for a while, ever since partnering with Kian Whitmarsh, the quartermaster of the Vancouver Shatterdome, and after the not-Apocalypse it had disappeared.

He was content.

He was happy.

There was a soft noise, almost like a chuckle, and he smiled.

Q rolled around to cross his forearms on James’ chest, chin resting on them, and his dark eyes studied the unshaven features with a contemplative smile.

“Have you ever thought about leaving it all behind?”

“I already did. Think about it,” Bond elaborated. “And leave it.”

Darkest time of his life. He had lost his co-pilot, Vesper Lynd. She had drowned while saving him from a similar fate. Vesper had meant too much to him to just continue, to get into the Jaeger again, with another co-pilot, and continued as if nothing had ever happened.

So he had left it all behind.

And it had been a dark, dark time, filled with soul-deep pain.

“And now?” Q queried softly.

He knew everything about James; they had been inside each other’s mind, psyche and soul. There were no secrets any more. With the Ghosts that persisted between them it was as if he had known Q all his life.

It had saved him.

“Leave and do what? Move back to England?” James ran a warm hand along the slender side, caressing, stroking, almost like grounding himself. “There is nothing there. Vancouver? The same. I am where you are, Q. Simple as that?”

“Simple, hm?” his partner echoed, eyes reflecting his deeper knowledge.

“What about you? Want to turn your back on this and hole up in a private lab? Or run your own? Maybe a house and white picket fence? Plant a tree in the back yard?”

Q snorted a little laugh.

James grinned and pushed back a lock of dark hair. His fingers trailed over the sharply defined cheek bones and the pale skin.

“I’m not going to leave,” Q told him. “I like it here.”

“Yeah.”

The kiss was soft and not meant to go anywhere but this point of contact.

“And you enjoy being Herc’s second. And Skyfall’s pilot.”

“And your co-pilot.”

“And that.” Q leaned into the hand cupping his cheek, James letting his thumb slide over the stubble.

He loved Skyfall. He loved their Jaeger, the way they fit, slid together in the Drift, and how it translated into the smooth, even movement of the gigantic exoskeleton.

The connection between them seemed to strengthen, pulled them together like nothing else, and Q almost hummed as he settled comfortably against James, eyes sliding closed.

_Love you_ , he murmured through the Ghosts.

Q’s emotions were breathtakingly intense and clear.

No, he wouldn’t want to leave. Not unless Q did. He was content and happy here. He wanted to be here.

The last weeks had been a little more tumultuous, but that was to be expected after Herc’s accident. Chuck’s reaction had also been more than expected, the emotional tidal waves, the fury, the fear, the terror of losing his only surviving parent. Bond was glad that Raleigh had been there to help even out the waves. The man had the patience of a saint.

“He’s in love,” Q murmured.

“Telepathic my ass,” Bond mumbled, grinning.

It was an old argument. Their connection was psychic, but not telepathic, but strong emotions between them strengthened the link and let almost-thoughts leak. It was like they could recreate a Drift without the Pons, but both men refused to become guinea pigs.

Q grunted, not opening his eyes. “Empathic.”

James kissed his head. He felt the little ebb and flow of Q’s presence, lulling him into a doze.

 

tbc...


	10. Chapter 10

Raleigh walked into the kitchen area of the apartment level and found it was empty except for Herc, who was waiting for the microwave to heat up something that smelled like mac’n cheese. When the Marshall took out his plate after the ping, it turned out to be mac’n cheese.

“Don’t they feed the brass better than the grunts?” Raleigh asked as he poured himself coffee.

Herc chuckled and sat down. “Like what? Lobster, caviar and champagne for breakfast?”

Raleigh shrugged casually and rooted through the fridge for a snack. He found a plate with cold cuts and what looked suspiciously like a day old cheese muffin. Oh well.

It was only just past noon and while weekends normally meant nothing in a military installation like the Shatterdome, matters were going more slowly anyway. With so much bureaucracy happening compared to the ever-present threat of the Kaijus just months before, the Shatterdome was more like an oversized office building on weekends. Workers went home, flew to the mainland, had time off. The shifts working on the Jaegers didn’t change, but other matters rested.

Raleigh took the muffin and plopped it into the microwave, then carried his snack over to the table together with the coffee.

“Heard you finally had your head examined,” Herc remarked around a mouthful of macaroni.

Raleigh shot him a frown over his coffee cup.

The Marshall grinned. “Took you only six years?”

“Five years and eight months.”

“Same thing. James is efficient that way.”

“One way of putting it. Pulling rank is another.”

“Doubtful. You not running off into the wilds is what happened, Becket.”

Herc raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of a lot of things. And that running had been very far from Raleigh’s mind. There was nothing he was running from, nothing he could run to, and he was happy just where he was, with what he was doing, with whom he was with.

“Running’s not always the solution,” Herc added. “Sometimes giving in is.”

He grimaced again.

That was more truthful than anything else. After Yancy’s death, after he had piloted Gipsy back to shore alone, he hadn’t reacted well to the neurologists’ approaches to getting his brain examined.

Raleigh hadn’t wanted to know.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to get a deeper glimpse.

He hadn’t wanted to hear about scars and trauma and brain damage.

He had known all that without a scientist waving statistics and scans at him.

Raleigh Becket was only the second pilot to be able to bear the full neural load alone. Stacker had been unique up until then, but what set Raleigh even further apart was the fact that he had done so after getting half his soul ripped out, after losing his co-pilot in the middle of a strong Drift, and coming out of it moderately unscathed.

Sane, they had called it.

Raleigh had felt anything but.

Aside from Mako, only Chuck knew the full depth of what had happened to him back then. Mako had had her own burden to bear and her own rabbits to chase. She had never openly approached him concerning that soul-shattering moment.

Raleigh had been scared of that moment, of the Drift, of Chuck seeing it all for himself.

How he had lost everything.

And run. Never looking back.

Disappearing off the face of the earth, hiding among the workforce building the Walls.

 

 

_“Fucking idiot,” Chuck whispered when he caught those stray thoughts._

_Yes, he had hated Raleigh’s guts in the beginning. Well, hate was too strong a word for it. He had seen him as a coward, turning his back on those who had needed him. He hadn’t understood what it meant to lose a co-pilot like that. Inside the Drift; feeling the death like it was his own._

_The Becket brothers had been heroes; the heroes had fallen. And the survivor hadn’t faced the world, he had disappeared._

_Chuck, only a teenager back then, had found that to be a cheap, cowardly move. Raleigh had deserted the PPDC; he had deserted Chuck. He had run away._

_And Chuck had thought good riddance to him. Raleigh had been a failure, something Chuck would never be. The world was better off without him!_

_Only to meet the older Ranger again, brought back to save the world._

_Because Pentecost hadn’t trusted him, Chuck Hansen, to do the job alone._

_Chuck, who had been trained all his life._

_Chuck, who was the best damned pilot out there. The best! And the world needed him!_

_Chuck, the one pilot who knew more about Jaegers than anyone else!_

_So what if he was an egotist? So what if he was an asshole? He had had every right to be!_

_It had irked him. The Marshall hadn’t thought that he was good enough. That someone else was needed. That none of the victories of before, nothing he had done, had suddenly counted._

_Pentecost had brought in some washed-out yank, someone who had deserted the rank, who had fled and hidden with his tail between his legs, like he was god’s gift to the world, like he was their secret weapon._

_Damaged goods._

_No good at all._

_Chuck didn’t want a failure on his team, such a high risk! Raleigh endangered them all! Why the fuck did no one see that?!_

_It had all come through in their first neural handshake and it had turned their worlds upside down. It had given them insights no one else but their prior partners had had before._

_It had changed everything._

_It had been what Raleigh had been terrified of._

_Chuck looked at him, pupils blown wide, eyes filled with shock and echoes of pain and despair that weren’t his own. He felt the remnants of Yancy in Raleigh’s mind, felt the black hole that had once been part of Raleigh Becket and had been torn apart with his brother’s death. He was caught in the moment, back then, five years ago, when everything had gone to hell._

_And he was there as a delirious Raleigh, his mind filled only with_ painlosspaindespairpainYancypainNO!NonononotgonecantbegoneNO!YANCY!, _guided the severely damaged Jaeger back to shore. His mind had been this burning, black hole; his soul a numb weight within him._

_And then he had reached land._

_When he let her fall._

_When he could no longer feel anything._

_When his own body gave out on him, long before his brain followed._

_When there was nothing anymore._

_He suddenly understood._

_His apology, his empathy, was nothing put into words. It was a brush of his very self over Raleigh’s mind, embracing it, completing the neural handshake, holding steady._

_Everything flooded back. Everything. His words, his taunts, his remarks, his intent to hurt the older pilot._

_“I…”_

_Raleigh silenced him, feeling it all, being there, wanting to be there, taking Chuck deeper, holding him._

_There was no need for words._

_He knew. He understood. He had lived with it all for years. And he would have to live with the damage for the rest of his life._

_He was damaged goods. Chuck had been right back then that he had been a liability._

_“No…”_

_“Yes,” he murmured, his very soul now flowing through Chucks and vice versa. It was this fractured thing, jagged at the edge, scarred and barely held together through willpower and single-minded determination not to fail. “You were right. Stacker wouldn’t have recalled me if he had had another choice. He made a command decision, a military decision. He had use for me. As your back-up. He knew I could take Gipsy down there on my own if I had to. Call it cannon fodder. It was why he fought Mako’s partnership with me.”_

_Sacrifice._

_Chuck stumbled a little, memories of those last moments with Pentecost still fresh in his mind. The Marshall had done the same; sacrificed himself._

_For the whole world._

_And Raleigh had done it again, born the neural load on his own after ejecting an unconscious Mako from Gipsy Danger. Twice in a lifetime._

_Mako had never seen the scars that second single-pilot maneuver had left him with, though they weren’t as burning and painful as Yancy’s death had been._

_“The human brain isn’t made for this kind of interface,” Raleigh murmured._

_“Yours seems to be.”_

_Raleigh had held him, buried himself in Chuck’s presence. “Never again.”_

_No, never again. Chuck wouldn’t let him._

_“You were scared of me seeing this?” he asked, Drifting, seeing it all so clearly._

_No walls. Raleigh had dropped everything, wasn’t even trying to keep him out._

_“Why?”_

_Shame. Guilt. Not enough._

_“You are more than enough,” he argued hotly, his own short-comings prominently on his mind. “And Mako saw this too! She didn’t run.”_

_“She isn’t you,” had been Raleigh’s soft answer._

_No, she wasn’t. He didn’t feel this… this… for her. She was like a sister, a kindred soul who had lost so much. She was family, but in a different way. She had healed him a little, had been his balance, just like he had done the same for her._

_Both their lives had been on hold until the day they had met, until the moment they had Drifted, and had finally found the courage to face themselves and the world._

_Together._

_But Chuck…_

_The emotions flared, coming hotly across the divide between them, firmly anchoring in the Headspace. Chuck sank into them, let them happen._

_“You think I’d leave…” he heard himself whisper-think, deep within the Drift._

_Damaged. Scarred. Broken._

_“Like all of us,” Chuck murmured. He wasn’t without his own issues._

_Raleigh wrapped himself tightly around the other mind, holding on, kissing him._

_Wanting him._

_Loving him._

_And Chuck stalled slightly, aware that those emotions were there, inside him, too, but he couldn’t… he just… couldn’t._

_So he simply held the other man, was inside the Drift, felt it all and accepted it all, sensing the same in return._

_They came out of their first Drift, knowing so much more, understanding a lot more, and from Herc’s look, he was aware of a lot more than any other person. He had been Chuck’s partner long enough._

_The older Hansen gave Raleigh a nod, a small smile on his lips._

_It had been a blessing. It had been a kind of absolution._

_They had only grown stronger as a team, as partners, from there._

 

 

So yes, Bond had made him see those neurologists he had fled from. That the neurologist in question was a K-scientist by the name of Dr. Newton Geiszler had been a surprise.

A rather pleasant one.

Newton had been his usual, hyper self, and that by itself had been more reassuring than anything else.

“I got the paper to prove I know what I’m doing,” he told Raleigh as he attached the pads to his head.

Hermann snorted, shaking his head, but he kept his tongue.

Newton shot him an annoyed look, but there was a fondness that took the sting out of it.

“I just need an hour of your time. And a little blood.”

“Blood?” Raleigh echoed.

“Or brain samples,” Newton added cheerfully.

“What?!”

“Ignore him,” Hermann advised, limping over. His expression reflected exasperation at the words of his colleague, coupled with annoyance that he had to interfere. “He needs neither. The scans are enough. Your old files give us enough information on the condition of your brain before Knifehead. This will be an easy comparison, though there might be follow-up scans in the future. It would have been interesting to compare your current condition to the one before Operation Pitfall.”

“Current condition?” Raleigh echoed.

Newton waved his hand. “So they messed up right after they stitched him back together. No sweat.”

“It was a grievous error in judgment. It’s mandatory for pilots going through such trauma to get at least a basic EEG and a CT.”

“I believe it’s more important that Raleigh survived the whole mess than that he didn’t get a brain scan, Hermann.”

“That is your unprofessional opinion, Dr. Geiszler.”

“Unprofessional?” Newton yelped. “Who was asked to do the brain scan now?”

“Only because Ranger Becket wouldn’t set foot in Medical…”

“He would and he didn’t have to,” Newton snapped. “I’m perfectly capable of handling this. Missing a scan after he was forced out of a Drift with his co-pilot isn’t the topic here, Hermann,” he added sharply, brows lowering. “Serious psychological trauma, dude! Show some empathy!”

Raleigh felt like watching a marital spat. Those two had been working together for ten years and recently their relationship had taken the final step toward a much more intimate one, but their head-butting was legendary. Right now he was in the middle of things.

“Newt,” he interrupted the biologist – and his current ‘doctor’, before this could get out of hand.

“What? Oh, yes. Scan. Right. Sorry you had to see this.” Newton shot Hermann a dark look.

Gottlieb simply frowned, then turned to his math and studiously ignored his colleague for the rest of Raleigh’s stay.

“Scanning,” Newton announced cheerfully.

Raleigh tried to sit still, but with the electrodes on his head, placed in some contraption that reminded him of a Frankensteinesque kind of chair, he felt himself tense. He wasn’t even aware when Newton’s rambling cut off until the scientist was right in his face.

With a serious expression in his own face. Serious and unlike Newton’s normal behavior, and it pulled him out of the small zone he had worked himself in.

“Hey,” Newton said quietly. “You’re not a lab specimen, okay? This is medical, not scientific like taking a Kaiju apart layer by layer.”

His voice was soft, even, calm. It touched something in Raleigh, let the jitters subside, the tension flow out.

“I know it’s not easy being unique. You’ve been that way for a whole lot longer than some of us. Scientific curiosity is something you can’t shake off and ignore. They’ll get you sooner or later, so let it happen on your own terms. Here. The Shatterdome.”

He quirked a little smile, though his eyes remained serious.

“It’s what I did. And hey, I’m my own scientists. Okay, so Hermann helped, but there was no one from outside. They can ask me all they want, but they won’t get a go at my brain.”

And Raleigh understood. Like him, Newton Geiszler was unique. He had Drifted with a Kaiju brain twice. He had made it out alive. He had come out of it with a kind of brain-damage himself. He was bonded to his Drift-partner of the second neural handshake with the alien mind he had tried to understand. Newton rarely really talked about the true depth of their connection – a small miracle since he talked about everything else like a waterfall – but Raleigh knew the two men had become incredibly close.

Closer than a normal relationship.

And even if it didn’t look that way, they both needed the other. Newton might be reliant on Hermann’s touch, the grounding effect he had, but Gottlieb had changed little by little; in a good way. Because of Newton and the Drift.

“I’m just saying,” Newton now interrupted his train of thought, a tiny smile on his lips, “this is among friends. I might be a neurologist on paper, but you’re my friend, Ranger Becket. This is to help you, to appease the raving masses out there,” he made a vague gesture toward the lab’s doors, “but it really is only about you.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Newt,” Raleigh replied quietly, meaning it.

It got him an almost shy smile. “And if you freak, lemme know.”

Raleigh leaned back in the chair, trying to relax, then nodded at Newton. The K-scientist returned the gesture, then went back to his screens. Out of the corner of his eyes Raleigh discovered Hermann, who had watched everything from his desk with sharp eyes.

He gave the man a brief smile and received a brisk nod.

 

 

Two hours later he was a free man again.

Newton was still evaluating everything and had shooed him out of the lab. Just before the doors had closed after him, Raleigh had caught him waving a print at Gottlieb and trying to catch his attention.

Oh well, he would find out sooner or later anyway.

 

 

“So what’s the verdict?” he asked, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

Herc smirked, fork stabbing into the congealing mass of cheese and pasta. “You’re alive, Becket.”

Raleigh snorted.

“And the world of science will take the scans apart, study them, wonder how you did it. Twice.”

He shrugged.

“The novelty might wear off in a century or two,” Herc added deviously.

Raleigh groaned. “Uh-huh. Unique specimen and all.”

“Aren’t we all?”

The last of the macaroni-cheese gooiness disappeared in the Marshall’s mouth and he emptied his soda.

“Whatever you have that made your single drives possible, I’m damn glad you were there. You ran solo combat against Kaijus. You came out of this alive.”

“Didn’t we all?” Raleigh echoed that sentiment.

Herc studied him, face serious. “In a way.” He flexed his fingers, feeling the scars pull a little. “Some scars simply run deeper.”

Raleigh nodded slowly, gazing at his cooling coffee. He bore those scars, visible and invisible. Many did. There was hardly anyone on the front lines who hadn’t lost someone, hadn’t been scarred from the war.

Like Herc.

Like Chuck.

And like Mako.

Herc’s expression changed a little, grew more serious, more personal. “Raleigh.”

He frowned.

“I wanted to thank you. For Chuck. For being there for him.”

Raleigh blinked, a little confused. “Where else would I have been?” he asked, letting that confusion seep into his voice.

“In Chuck’s case, far, far from that volatile little sob.”

He caught he smile and mirrored it.

“So. Thanks.”

“You know I wouldn’t leave him alone, sir.”

Herc glared a little. “Don’t you sir me now, Becket.”

“Then I won’t.”

He fiddled with his empty cup. Talking to Herc had always been easy – before he and Chuck had become so much closer. Now the man was close to a father-in-law, maybe even more like a father for Raleigh, too. Talking about emotions concerning Chuck was… complicated.

Herc snorted, a knowing light in his eyes. “Can’t but love the kid,” he remarked.

“Yeah,” Raleigh said softly.

“Even if he repeatedly kicks you where it hurts.”

“Instinct.”

“Badly taught social behavior.”

“He turned out okay.”

Herc gave a rough laugh. “Yeah. Probably. Didn’t think he would. He landed you, so that’s a good thing.”

Raleigh’s mouth opened, then snapped shut again, and he felt heat rise in his face. Herc smirked, then laughed.

“Hey, you’re good for my kid. I know it. I can see the changes.”

He evaded the knowing eyes. “Uh, thanks. He’s… good for me, too. In a way.”

He slept better. A lot better. The nightmares had receded and he got more sleep per night than the years before. Chuck was his anchor, his safety line, and he trusted him.

“Thanks for the vacation planning, by the way,” the Marshall said. “We had a good time.”

Raleigh shrugged. “It’s what my family always did.”

His mom and dad, his brother. All of them in a motorhome that looked more like a bus, an old jeep attached to it, so they could get around without always disconnecting from the campground system. It had been fun for them all. He and Yancy had really looked forward to the adventure.

Raleigh raised his eyes and caught Herc’s knowing look. A softer expression graced the narrow features.

“Good memories,” Herc said, understanding.

“Yeah,” he whispered. His own of old; the ones Chuck and his dad had now created.

The Marshall rose, smiling a little. “Duty calls. See you later.”

Raleigh gave him a nod and watched the older man go. He finally rose as well, refilled his coffee, and headed to the Jaeger bay.

 

tbc...


	11. Chapter 11

He knew he couldn’t evade Newton for the rest of his natural life, and he really didn’t want to, but Raleigh wasn’t keen on hearing about his brain damage.

He could only putter around the bay so long.

He could only run so many rounds.

He could only hover in Mako’s shadow for so long until she gave him the evil eye and told him to man up. Well, in her own way.

So Raleigh bit the bullet and walked into the K-science main lab, looking for Newton.

“Raleigh!”

And there he was, bounding over to the taller Jaeger pilot, all bright eyes and smiles, hair tousled like he hadn’t seen a comb for a while. Today Newton had exchanged his usual white shirt for a dark red t-shirt with a Kaiju print on it, which somehow didn’t clash with his colorful tattoos.

“Ranger Becket,” Hermann acknowledged his presence before going back to his simulation.

“Here to hear about the scan results?” Newt asked.

“Yeah. Kinda. How bad is it?”

Newton waved him over to what had to be his work desk, but what really looked like an office supply shop had exploded in confined quarters all over the desk. There were papers, data drives, a laptop, some smaller tablet – make that three, Raleigh found, briefly wondering why Newton needed three tablets – folder, pens, pencils and more. That there were specimen jars serving as paper weights made everything even weirder.

Well, no. It made this clearly Newt’s place. Very clearly.

Newton dove into a pile and pulled out a tablet – number four, Raleigh thought with bemusement – and called up the scans. He presented them to the Jaeger pilot.

Raleigh saw nothing but gray in several shades and something he might call his brain, if he was pressed to identify anything on the image.

“Not going to bore you with the scientific lingo. This is your brain, or more precisely: the area of your brain that looks a teensy-weensy bit different from the last scan you had when you were still active. Not that you aren’t active now, but before you went all construction worker and were a hero of the Wall building kind.”

Raleigh blinked. “Uh-huh. Point?”

“Point. Right. My point. There have been changes to your brain and brain chemistry, but nothing that leaves you a vegetable. Not that you would know if you were one. But you aren’t.”

Raleigh caught an eye-roll from Gottlieb, who muttered ‘teensy-weensy, oh please’ to himself.

“Shut up, Hermann. Not your field of expertise!” Newton called, clearly hearing the words. “Anyway,” he turned back to Raleigh, “your brain underwent serious trauma. No news there. You came out of it alive and sane, which is good, but there are scars. Not the physical kind. You never got a brain injury in that regard. This was psychological trauma and there are areas that show it.”

He pointed at gray dots.

“Rerouting, so to speak. No one really knows what the neural handshake does over such a long time, what the consequences are. The early pilots sadly died from radiation poisoning, or were killed in action. And radiation really messes up the scans, so no one can be sure about what they tell us. You aren’t contaminated and you’re unique in so many ways.”

Raleigh grimaced a little, unable to hide his reaction. Newton looked a little flustered, then muttered an apology.

“It’s okay. I should be used to it,” Becket answered.

“Not something you really get used to, huh?”

Newton’s voice was a lot more quiet now, contemplative, and his expression more personal and reflective.

“No,” Raleigh answered truthfully. “So, that’s it now? A few gray specs?”

“Those gray specs, as you call them, mean brain damage,” Gottlieb elaborated, voice sharp.

Newton rolled his eyes again. “Hermann!”

“It means that the result of a full neural handshake, broken in the middle of an intense fight, without prior preparation, leads to a loss of synaptic connections. The interface was under stress throughout your confrontation with Knifehead, you were one with your co-pilot and the Jaeger you piloted, and the fact that your co-pilot was yanked out of it had your brain go into shock. All prior tests made with a single pilot showed that such a strain would kill a human being, send the brain into an overload that resulted in cranial bleeding and death. Your brain weathered this storm, though not unscathed. These gray areas are scars.”

Raleigh fought against the nausea rising inside him, the memories of Yancy’s death, the Ghosts still occasionally rearing their heads to taunt him with those moments.

“Hermann!” Newton hissed. “Bedside manner!”

“I’m not a medical doctor and Ranger Becket has a right to know.”

Newton glared at him. Gottlieb just met the angry gaze passively.

“Thank you, Dr. Gottlieb,” Raleigh said, breathing in deeply.

Five years. He had had five years to handle this. He could do this.

“You are welcome. Now, as to what else this tells us: not much. Marshall Pentecost was able to pilot a Jaeger on his own, but not under the same conditions as you had to. Both of you were pushed to your individual limits in different situations. I believe yours was more intense, more sudden. Both of you handled them. The scans won’t enable neurologists to sort out possible candidates for solo Drifts. Drifts can’t be made alone.”

Newton still glowered at his partner and colleague. “Thank you, Dr. Gottlieb,” he snapped. “For summing up what I told Raleigh already.”

“You are welcome.” Hermann limped back to his model, which was still running through the same loops.

Newton muttered something uncomplimentary, but there was no mistaking the fond light in his eyes.

“So…?” Raleigh probed. “I’m good?”

“You were never not good. This was nothing but routine. For the archives and to appease the bloodhounds. You had them waiting for over five years.” Newton smiled and shrugged. “Keeps them off your back.”

“Good to know.”

Newton swiped the image off the tablet’s screen. “The human brain can adapt to trauma and even physical injury,” he said softly. “Individually. Nothing you can predict. New connections are made, scars circumvented, and we don’t even feel it. You’re no different than before. You’re still you. Even if you lost something, which you can’t remember anymore, you’re still Raleigh Becket. Don’t let anyone tell you anything else.”

Raleigh looked into the dark eyes, saw nothing but understanding and a strange kind of empathy there. This wasn’t pep-talk. This was what Newton really meant and felt. He found himself smiling slightly, nodding.

“Thanks.”

Newton gave him a crooked kind of smile in return. “The Drift, the neural handshake, the Pons… it was something made real because it was needed to fight this war, to hopefully win. No one gave the repercussions for the pilot any thought. Damn the consequences and all. It’s one reason why it won’t be used anywhere else for now. It’s experimental; all of us are guinea pigs. One day it might be something else, to be used in a non-military way, in private sectors. So far, it isn’t.”

Newton seemed to pull himself out of his more serious mood and gave the ranger a bright smile.

“So, that’s it. Any questions?”

Raleigh chuckled. “No. I’m good to go?”

“You always were. Now go off and do whatever busy Rangers do.” He winked.

So he went, feeling strangely relieved.

 

 

“Could have told you that,” Chuck murmured when they were on the couch together, Raleigh’s head on his partner’s lap.

The younger man ran his fingers through the blond strands, tousling the hair. He grinned down at Raleigh, gray eyes bright.

“Probably,” the American said softly.

Because they Drifted together. Because Chuck had seen it all, could feel Raleigh in so many ways.

“I know that fucked-up brain of yours. I’ve been in it enough. Those scans are useless.”

“Keeps the hounds off my back,” Raleigh cited Newton.

Chuck grunted, dragging his nails lightly over Raleigh’s head. Raleigh closed his eyes in pleasure. He could almost hear Chuck’s grin, could feel the gentle Ghosts between them. They weren’t as intense as what Bond and Q experienced, but they were there. Just ghostly, never overwhelming, making him aware of the other man, and an anchor when the old shadows tried to reclaim him.

Lips met his and he answered the gentle kiss, smiling when Chuck drew back.

“Movie?” Chuck asked, gray eyes bright and teasing.

“Popcorn?”

The Aussie patted Raleigh’s flat stomach. “Sure. Company?”

Because it was movie night over at Tendo’s and it was usually a lot of fun. Wild and wet fun that ended in a buzz or two.

“Tendo’s got the new Star Trek movie.”

“Not asking where he got it from,” Chuck teased.

“Never would. So?”

“Sounds good.”

Raleigh reached up, curled his hand around Chuck’s neck and pulled the other pilot into another sloppy kiss. He hummed against the younger man’s lips, enjoying the lazy contact.

Faint arousal hummed through him, but he had no intention to follow it.

At least not right now.

Chuck’s eyes were warm, private, intimate, and the smile only mirrored that. “Movie,” he murmured.

Raleigh couldn’t help himself as his fingertips traced the prominent dimples he loved so much. There was a faint flush working itself up Chuck’s cheeks.

Love you, Raleigh thought.

Even if Chuck might never say those words to him. He knew the emotions were there; the Drift left them with no secrets.

“Ray.”

And maybe that was it.

Raleigh grinned. “Movie,” he agreed.

Because if they didn’t leave now, if this got even deeper and more emotional, they wouldn’t make it out of here; ever.

 

 

They made it to Tendo’s just as the opening credits started. Choi gave them a knowing look. Chuck just glared.

“Becket’s fault,” he grumbled, then his eyes were drawn to the screen.

It wasn’t Stark Trek.

“Avengers!” he crooned and claimed a place on the couch. “Cool!”

Raleigh rolled his eyes and joined him. Chuck had seen the movie at least five times, called it a classic, and he owned some very illegal copies of all three movies ever made.

“You can quote every line in that movie,” Raleigh murmured.

Chuck made shushing motions. “Shuddup, Rah-leigh!”

Raleigh slid down, settling into Chuck’s side, and let himself drift off as the first things started to explode.

 

* * *

 

He needed to get back into shape.

Herc had always been a soldier, had always been in peak condition, and right now he felt as weak as a newborn puppy. It had been three months since the accident and while he could breathe okay, while his wounds had scarred over and healed, his endurance had suffered.

Weight training was one thing. He had learned to start out slow, especially since Chuck was usually there as his training partner and kept a close eye on him. Running was another.

It was something he had found was harder than he ever remembered it being.

It was also something he acquired a new training partner for: James Bond. The man had a penchant for showing up on the roof and running silent circles with Herc. He never said anything when the Marshall slowed down; he simply mirrored his speed. He also never once remarked on the frequent pauses when Herc slowed to a walk, breathing too hard for his own liking, feeling a remnant twinge from his injured lung.

The doctors had told him that he had his full lung capacity back, but since the lung was a muscle, it needed training. Like all his muscles. He would regain his old endurance and condition in time, but it was time he needed.

So he ran with his second in command, and if Bond wasn’t there, it was Mako. Sometimes Raleigh.

They never really talked.

And it felt good.

 

 

Because he was the Marshall, no one expected Herc to be in the same shape as a pilot, but he had been a pilot not too long ago and he followed the same training schedule.

Weights. Running. Combat training.

Kwoon.

Herc was a feared and respected opponent, but right now he wasn’t in any shape to beat a rookie, let alone seasoned pilots, so he usually chose the early morning hours, or late at night, to go through the old, well-honed motions of shadow boxing and shadow fighting. He was missing the fluidity of old, but that was coming back. A lot of it was muscle memory and with the increasingly better shape he was getting himself in, the movements became more practiced, more fluid.

Sometimes he caught a few rookies watching him, but they quickly made themselves scarce.

Herc snorted. He still had the same old reputation and after what had happened, his near-death, he was gaining even more of one.

It was on one of the days he had chosen a very late time slot, close to midnight, that he found he had company again; one he didn’t mind

Mako watched his moves, her eyes sharp, practiced, taking in his still too wooden movements when it came to certain moves.

Herc stopped and turned to look at her, his eyes reflecting a challenge.

Mako bowed her head a little in greeting. “Sometimes it is better to step out of the shadows,” she said softly.

“Is that your way of offering to beat my ass, Miss Mori?”

She smiled. “It is an offer to practice with more than yourself, Marshall.”

He snorted. “Right. Go easy on me, okay?”

She smiled more. “I have no wish to aggravate your injuries again.”

 

 

And that was how their sparring sessions began.

Slow. Like first lessons at the Academy.

Quickly moving into more advanced training, switching from bo staffs to fencing to unarmed combat.

Herc felt bruised and battered for the first few encounters, but he was getting the hang of things and Mako was a good teacher. She sometimes suddenly stopped, bowed, told him that was enough, even though his spiking adrenaline was still masking the pain and his more aggressive side told him to continue.

But Herc listened to her.

After a while Q joined them and it was interesting to face the former quartermaster of the Vancouver Shatterdome in a Kwoon setting. He had a different style, one that matched and mirrored and very much balanced James Bond’s, but Herc was getting used to it.

He also learned that the younger man was a devious fighter.

His bruised tailbone agreed.

And he started to match Q, drawing a few raised eyebrows from the Brit. Herc knew he was compatible with others if he had the time to work with their style, if they were ready to meet him halfway. He had driven every single generation of Jaeger at least once, which meant a different co-pilot.

 

 

“Fierce little bugger,” he told Bond over an ice-cold soda after such a work-out where Q hadn’t held back and shown the Marshall just what he was made of.

James’ smile was knowing and full of possessive pride. He had every right to be. Q was a bloody awesome fighter.

“I know.”

“Taught you a lesson or two?”

It got him a laugh. “Or two,” Bond agreed.

 

tbc...


	12. Chapter 12

When Chuck finally did more than watch, when he finally followed the invitation Herc had silently given him with a raised brow each time his son had been in the Kwoon, it felt like old times.

They matched. Still did. It was familiar, a dance he hadn’t forgotten, and though Chuck held back and Herc cursed him for it, the first Kwoon match between them was exhilarating and strangely healing.

The second one was up a notch.

The third was almost a full-out brawl to an outsider but a true fight between the two Hansen men like before.

It was still a dance, but more defined, sharper, drawing on their reserves, on their skill, making them adjust and balance the weak side of their partner, and when Chuck went down, there was no anger in his eyes.

It was laughter.

It was relief.

And Herc grinned brightly at his son, offering him a hand up.

“Still got it, old man,” Chuck teased.

Herc growled and pushed him back. “Don’t call me that.” There was no heat in his words. The shove had been playful.

 

 

They gained an audience after a while, a gaggle of rookies. Chuck grinned almost ferally as he glanced at them.

“Here for the show,” he murmured.

And they were.

A month into training, Herc had regained his strength and agility. The ferociousness hidden inside the wiry form was barely in their encounters, and Chuck enjoyed the training sessions immensely.

Sure, Herc wasn’t his Drift partner anymore; that was Raleigh. And Raleigh’s style was different, but not too different from his father’s. Chuck had always been the more aggressive of the two, but he knew just what was underneath that civilized, apparently more controlled surface Herc Hansen projected. His dad was a bad-ass fighter, a brawler like himself, and pity on those who underestimated him.

Or called him old.

Chuck twirled the staff in his gloved hands; black leather, fingerless, worn to fit him perfectly. He raised an eyebrow, a challenge, a suggestion, a taunt.

Herc huffed a laugh and his grin was equally feral.

Both were dressed in loose fitting sweat pants, barefooted, Chuck in a washed-out gray t-shirt, Herc in a military issue khaki one. The new scars were still bright against his father’s skin, a reminder of what had happened, but the anger Chuck had felt was gone. Herc was okay; he was healed.

Chuck knew the moment when the rookies stared in awe, some of them maybe even fantasizing about either of the two men, the murmurs reaching his ears even through the haze of the match.

Strike – counter – match – block – swipe – counter – scissor – strike.

Wooden staffs clanged against each other, the shock of the impact reverberating through Chuck, and he enjoyed fighting back without any holds barred. He knew his father was back in shape, that he could take this, that he wouldn’t accept coddling.

They were fucking good. They were perfect. They were a team. They had known each other for six years in the Drift. Nothing could take this from Chuck and never would.

He had no idea when they unanimously decided to ditch the staffs, to go into a mixed martial-arts sparring, when their dance became more intense, and he felt so stupidly happy and free as he blocked his dad’s moves, matched and mirrored, fell back into the old rhythm.

Adaptation.

Respect your partner, even out his weaknesses as he does yours.

When they were done he caught sight of his current Drift partner, his… life-partner. Chuck felt something inside of him breathe easily at the sudden realization that yes, that was what Raleigh really was.

His partner for life. A life outside the Drift and the Shatterdome.

Raleigh smiled brightly, nodding at him. Those too brilliant blue eyes were filled with pride and understanding.

“In line for the next round?” Chuck called, grinning.

“You really want your ass handed to you?”

“Yeah, right, as if! Bring it on, Becket!”

Raleigh shook his head. “Not today.”

“Getting old, has been?”

It was like getting back on that horse and it was good. Chuck knew he would never be able to get a brain-to-mouth filter that took the edge off his words, that might let him think before he spoke.

“Right,” he heard Herc mutter.

He glanced at him and saw the narrow-eyed look, the frown. But it wasn’t like before. It was almost like an automatic reaction of Herc’s to his son’s unrepentant behavior.

“I’d call it maturity,” Raleigh interrupted his thoughts and Chuck glared at the older man for the remark.

“Already got your retirement plans worked out?” he snapped.

“In detail.” Raleigh nodded at Herc. “Marshall.” And then he exited the Kwoon.

Chuck couldn’t but stare at Becket’s backside. A very nice backside. Especially in those pants.

Fuck, he hated how horny he felt after this workout.

And fuck Becket!

His father snorted and shook his head. “Take a shower, kid.”

With that he collected the wooden staffs and walked toward the changing rooms, a smirk and a very unholy light in his eyes.

Fuck!

 

*

 

He did take a shower. A cold one.

Goddamn Yank in his goddamn, too tight pants!

Chuck snarled at his own reaction, the adrenaline influenced, post-fight high.

Yes, he was twenty-two. Yes, he was a healthy male. But no, he wouldn’t jump Raleigh’s bones just because he had gotten high in a Kwoon fight!

He stomped out of the locker room, muttering curses that involved a certain blond, American pilot, and followed another instinct: food.

And the Jaeger bay after that.

He needed some kind of different physical action, something to work on, and fiddling around with Jaeger tech sounded just like it.

 

 

Three hours later the shower had long been rendered obsolete again. Chuck was covered in grease and other fluids, happily tinkering around Epic’s inner workings, his radio blasting rock music.

Physical work helped take the edge off, even him out, let him think about matters as thoughts just randomly flowed through his mind. It was a good way to go over matters.

He smiled to himself as he bolted a plate back into place.

It had been reassuring to fight with his dad, to see how much progress his old man had made within the past weeks. He was in a fighting condition again and it eased Chuck’s mind. Herc was okay. His father was whole and healthy again. It took such a burden, such worry, off his shoulders and out of his mind.

“You taking our jobs again, kid?”

Chuck looked up and gave the broad-shouldered, gruff looking mechanic a bright smile. “Just polishing up on my skills.”

His name was Thomas McGrary, a seasoned Jaeger mechanic who had been on Striker’s team already.

“Right. Get your ass out of here before I send Carly after you. She’s been bitching about your ‘polishing’ since you arrived. You know she hates competition.”

Chuck straightened and cleaned his hands on a rag. “As if I could ever be competition for that girl.”

“Yo, Hansen!” the girl in question yelled from across the walkway. “Get your scrawny ass away from my Jaeger!”

“Possessive much, Carls?” he shouted back.

“You’re just the jockey! Hands off the hardware!”

Carla Maria Brunetti was nearly two heads smaller than him, twice as temperamental as Chuck, and she had a reputation as a fiercely competitive Jaeger mech who could repair just about every kind of damage with a hairpin and duct-tape. And yes, she was that good. Throughout the war she had also been known to make repairs of a more complicated nature with materials that had never been intended to be used in that repair.

And it worked.

She was a whiz and she knew it.

Chuck liked her, had spent many hours up on the high rise with her, repairing damage, checking circuits and hydraulics, and going for a beer afterwards.

“Hansen!” she warned, but her smile told otherwise.

“Yeah, yeah!” Chuck waved and followed Thomas to the service lift.

“You wanna join the guys for a beer?”

“Got a Drop tomorrow.”

Thomas nodded. “She’s in peak condition. Milk run?”

“Stretching our legs, getting some miles in, and testing some stuff.”

“Well, have fun.”

“Oh, I will.”

 

 

He came into the apartment and had to smile when he found Raleigh asleep on the couch. His partner rarely fell asleep without Chuck, something that had confused the younger man in the beginning. The American hadn’t been very forthcoming and the more he dug into it, the more Raleigh closed himself off. He had learned early on that that was a reason for loud and hot arguments that ended in one of them storming out of their quarters and blowing off steam in the gym. Or the Kwoon.

Frustration was usually one of the emotions between them. So Chuck had taken the next step and cornered Mako.

 

_“You should ask Raleigh.”_

_“I did. He’s evasive.”_

_That got him a raised eyebrow._

_“You were in his head, Mako!”_

_“And you might be one day.”_

_Chuck gave a frustrated growl._

_Mako placed a calming hand on his arm. “Chuck, he was hurt when his brother died. Part of him died on that day, too.”_

_“I know!”_

_“And he still Drifts sometimes. Not a Ghost, just a vague memory that turns into so much more. His brain has been damaged, just like his soul.”_

_Oh._

_Chuck stared at her._

_Mako smiled. “He sleeps little because of it. But he gets the most rest with someone he trusts.”_

_Oh._

_“When you Drift, you will understand. As you will see that Raleigh spent the nights after our first Drift with me.”_

_Chuck felt a surge of almost insane jealousy and she smiled calmly._

_“To sleep. Peacefully.”_

_“Oh,” he murmured._

_She squeezed his arm again, then bowed her head and was gone._

__

So now he knew. And after their first Drift he had understood more. After their third, it was firm knowledge.

Raleigh slept best in company he trusted. When he was alone, the darkness encroached, the Ghosts of his brother whispered to him, and the remnants of their last fight kept repeating themselves over and over.

It was a vicious circle. Painful, tearing at his soul, and he needed someone to ground him when he let his guard down, when he tried to sleep.

In the beginning it had been Mako. After their first Drift together, she had come to his quarters that very first night, drawn to him because of the distress she faintly remembered from the neural handshake, and she had stayed.

As a friend.

Nothing but a friend.

Chuck had been slightly thunderstruck, but he understood because he had seen, felt it, all.

Raleigh had started to sleep better after the closure of the Breach, when he had spent so much time with a recovering Chuck. Sometimes he had fallen asleep in the chair, sometimes he had caught some naps in Medical.

Later, much later, he slept six or seven hours with Chuck beside him.

Because he trusted Chuck.

The Australian smiled, his expression softening. Fuck, he had it bad for the blond. Those stupid baby blues, that ridiculous hair. The oversized sweater. And the surreal abs.

Chuck almost laughed. He had it bad. Really, really bad.

“Ray?” he called softly.

He got a sleepy mumble and the bright blue eyes cracked open. “Chuck?”

Bloody hell, he wanted to tousle the already disheveled hair some more, bury his fingers in the dark blond strands, kiss the sleepy face.

Instead he leaned over his co-pilot, unable to keep the softness out of his smile. “In the flesh. Let’s get you to bed.”

It got him a sleepy smile that did all kinds of things to Chuck’s innards.

Damn, he had it bad.

They got into bed, Raleigh curled up against him with a mumble, and Chuck carded the fingers of one hand into his hair and scratched the blond head gently.

Yeah, he had it really, really bad.

 

* * *

 

The Drop was nothing spectacular, nothing to write home about. It wasn’t routine either, because piloting a gigantic piece of metal exoskeleton while locked together in a Drift was anything but routine. There was always a thrill, always a last whisper of something. There was always a risk because Epic North was a new model, had new systems, a new armor, new armament. The skin could rupture under pressure, a weapon could blow up at them, there might be a system blackout.

No, it would never be routine.

They put her through a sequence of trials, ran a multitude of tests, then piloted her back to the mainland for another array of tests.

The Drift was a warm connection between them, total trust and complete openness. Raleigh’s thoughts were even, slightly intimate in places, and Chuck caught him in the Headspace. He felt the depth of Raleigh’s emotions even without words between them and he looked at the slightly ghostly representation of his partner across the divide, then just closed the distance and caught him in a kiss that was more than just a physical contact.

This was the Drift.

This was them on such a soul-deep level, it couldn’t be surpassed. Their guards were down, they consciously bared their psyches in front of the other, and it was all about trust. Absolute trust.

No one could hear them here, see them, influence them.

_I love you._

He felt it; heard it; was Raleigh and was himself.

_I love you, Ray._

There was a surge. It drew him in, wove into his mind and soul, was Charles Hansen, was Raleigh Becket, and then there was only the Drift.

“We’re okay,” Raleigh murmured.

“We always were.”

Emotions came from the depth, warm and loving, murmuring to Chuck, and he let them. He let himself fall, be open, without walls.

There was nothing to hide anymore.

The whole exchange didn’t even last a second in real time. They looked at each other across the Conn-Pod and Chuck saw Raleigh smile.

He nodded.

“Systems are holding. Looking good,” Tendo’s voice echoed between them. “You’re good to have a go. Weapons dry run phase two.”

“Confirmed. Weapons dry run phase two,” Raleigh answered automatically without looking away from Chuck.

“Preparing phase two,” Chuck heard himself say.

_…I love you. Still need the Drift to say it. Always needed it with the people I love…_

_…I know. I know you. It’s okay…_

In the Headspace he devoured Raleigh’s mouth, then let go, smiling openly.

In the Headspace, he could be the person he had never managed to be outside the Drift.

It had been like this with his dad, it was like this with his partner. Chuck Hansen was one complicated mess with too many issues to count, but he was trying to work it out. He was trying to do better.

Raleigh drew him closer, leaning their heads together.

_…Love you the way you are…_

_…Sap…_

And he wouldn’t want him any other way.

 

*

 

Five hours after launch, Chuck and Raleigh were back home, pleased with the performance, even though some of the techs were already swarming over what they had found concerning minor errors.

Raleigh was cornered by their head engineer and Chuck gave him a mocking salute, then quickly fled before he could be caught as well.

He only stopped to watch Skyfall’s deployment, running a practiced eye over the partially new exterior, the sleeker look. Bond and Q were heading down to the Breach to deliver materials, but it was also coupled with their own tests into what had been upgraded and changed in their Mark-III Jaeger.

Skyfall 2.0.

Chuck snorted a little laugh, then sauntered to the elevator that took him down to the bay ground level.

Herc was waiting for him, a knowing expression in his eyes. He was holding Max’s leash. The dog was clearly happy to see him and Chuck knelt down to ruffle the crinkly face.

“Hey, buddy. Did grandpa already do walkies with you?”

“What did you call me?” Herc demanded gruffly.

Chuck smirked and looked up at his father, who chugged the leash at him.

“Take him for his walk.”

And he did.

 

tbc...


	13. Chapter 13

The Driveroom was as always a flurry of activity, techs helping Chuck into the Drivesuit, clearing the area and making sure everything was secure for the launch. Even without the necessity to be quick about suiting up the pilots because of a Kaiju, work went smoothly, efficiently and no slower than before. The teams prided themselves with their speed.

It wasn’t his first drop since his father’s injury. Chuck and Raleigh had taken their Mark-VI out four times already, making some easy runs to the ocean floor. Skyfall had only accompanied them once, probably because James was getting cabin fever. Until Herc returned to full duties, James was still the Marshall.

Today was a milk run. Take Epic down, test a few systems, look at the progress concerning the early warning system. Quantum Solace and Solar Chiffre, the latest addition to the Vancouver Shatterdome, had been busy in the last three weeks.

When Chuck walked into the Conn-Pod, he nearly stopped right in his tracks. The man already being fitted into the feedback cradle wasn’t Raleigh.

“Dad?” he blurted.

Herc gave him a grin that could only be described as cocky. “You took your sweet time dressing up.”

“You even know how to pilot anymore?” he taunted.

“Get your ass in here,” Herc growled.

“Yes, sir.”

Pushing back the shock, Chuck let himself get connected to Epic’s systems. It was almost weird to be here with his father, not Raleigh, even though it was more familiar. It was part of his life, had been his life for six long years, and he had had a little trouble adjusting to Raleigh that very first time.

He had no trouble now.

Chuck fell back on a routine that was deeply ingrained in him.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” James’ voice greeted them, the British accent a bit more pronounced. “Ready to go diving?”

“Whose idea was this?” Chuck asked, fingers flying over the manual controls.

“Apparently the Marshall wanted to go for a swim and Ranger Becket was only too willing to trade places,” came the amused reply.

 _I’m gonna kill him for this_ , Chuck thought darkly. _Or not. Depends on the outcome._

But he knew the outcome. It would be a perfect Drift. They would always be compatible.

He had missed this.

He glanced to his right and saw his dad’s knowing smile.

Fuck.

“Prepare for neural handshake,” Tendo announced. “Ten.”

As the countdown continued, Epic North already being moved past the opening bay doors, Chuck drew a deep breath, relaxing instinctively. It was all instinct. He couldn’t but go with the flow, do what needed to be done.

“One.”

And he was pulled into the Headspace, flashing through memories-thoughts-instincts he knew and had always known. At least it felt like it.

 

… and he rushed into the moment when Herc had had to say goodbye

 

_“Stacker! That’s my son you got there. My son.”_

 

… So much unspoken between them. Their last Drift the one that had taken Herc out of the equation.

… The guilt. The team split up for the first time in six years.

… The agony of watching his only child go

… The knowledge that this was a suicide mission

 

 

And then another, earlier memory shoved itself to the forefront. A confrontation just after his brawl with Raleigh, when his temper had gone through the roof, when he had felt jealous and outclassed, like all his past accomplishments had meant nothing.

His father coming to the Jaeger bay as Chuck was working on the hydraulics, shutting off his radio, Chuck turning it defiantly back on. He hadn’t given a flying shit about Mako being grounded that day. He had been too wrapped up in his own anger and insecurities.

 

_“I was listening to that!”_

_“Who are you? I don’t recognize you. Who are you?” Herc confronted him._

_“Who am I? What do you mean?” Chuck demanded._

_“You’re a great Ranger. Is that what you want to hear?” Herc snapped, sizing him up. “Everybody knows that.”_

_Chuck bristled, pulling himself up to his full height. “What more do you want me to be?”_

_“A better person!” his father shouted, clear anger in his voice and every gesture._

_Fuck, that had hurt. For a second he had lost his control, had let slip just how much. Then he had drawn back, ready to strike._

_And strike he did._

_“A better person,” Chuck echoed derisively and shouldered past him intentionally. “You know what? At least you can’t blame yourself! Because you didn’t raise me to be anything! After Mom died I spent more time with these machines than I ever did with you!”_

_Emotions had been high that very moment, roiling through him, burning through his very soul, his vision blurry and edged with red._

_Chuck had never learned to handle rejection well. He had never figured out anger management – he had a lot of issues there._

_He had wanted to hurt his father so much back then and he had. He had laid into him, had hit all the right buttons, had taken satisfaction in the way Herc had tensed up, the way his jaw muscles had worked._

_“The only reason why we speak at all any more, old man, is because we are Drift compatible!” he spat through clenched teeth. “We’re good at smashing things, aren’t we, you and I? You know what? We don’t need to speak at all anymore.”_

_He grabbed his jacket. His father’s eyes reflected everything, all the pain, the hurt, the anguish Chuck felt himself._

_Yes, Chuck Hansen could be a cold-hearted, cruel little bastard. And in that very moment he had loved nothing more than to inflict pain, to see his father flinch back, to see the agony in his eyes._

_It had been a cheap, short-lived sensation of victory._

_But it had counted._

_In that very moment, it had counted so damn much!_

_“I’ll catch you in the Drift. Dad.”_

_And then he was gone, pushing the pain he felt back into its compartment, refusing to acknowledge that he had seen that very pain in Herc’s face as he had delivered that last strike._

_And his father…_

 

 

Chuck felt the old pain, from that very moment. He shook with it, the rejection that had gone through him. There had been despair, all coming from deep within Herc, from the truth in the few words.

His failings at being a father.

His failings at being family.

 

_No, Dad… I didn’t… I was so angry back then…_

_I know. I love you, son. Never doubt that. Never…_

 

Chuck had been so hurt back then. By Pentecost’s apparent distrust in his abilities, by the defeat at Raleigh’s hands, by his father’s harsh reminder that he was a Ranger, to behave like one.

He had been more of a spoiled brat, a stubborn child.

He nearly sobbed. Herc held him, in the Drift, in the Headspace they shared, his arms coming around Chuck, holding him like he had when he had finally broken apart.

 

_I love you._

_I’m sorry._

_No need._

 

What if they had never gotten this chance? What if he had died back then? His father would have only those memories, the hard, angry, hurtful words. What if Herc had died in that stupid accident?

 

 

More memories trickled through.

 

… The hope when the escape pod had been found

 

… Hours sitting there, watching Chuck breathe

 

_Come back to me. I need you, Chuck. I love you._

 

… Joy and pain and hope and fear and so much more

… Pride. So much pride.

… The pain of the accident, barely any memories left of the event

… Helplessness and pain

 

_Love you, son. Never doubt it. No matter what. I’m proud of you and always have been._

 

… their time off together. The happiness. The sensation of family.

… Family.

 

 

It was all that counted. Him and his dad. And now Raleigh, who had become more… who meant so much more.

Chuck was stunned by the emotions they never talked about, the fierce pride, the love, the guilt, the relief, the acceptance that Chuck had found something with Raleigh, maybe even love.

Love.

No jealousy. There was just happiness, how glad Herc was for Chuck, for Raleigh, that they had found each other.

Content.

Family.

He knew the moment, the very fraction of a second it took, for the Pons to be stable and balanced. He didn’t need Tendo’s confirmation.

They were one, had always been in synch, and when Chuck looked at him, Herc gave him a small smile.

He had seen.

He knew. Of the breakdown, the anger, the agony inside his son’s soul, the scream of pain that had come out in fists and biting words against those who had tried to help.

Inside the Headspace, emotions flared, enveloped Chuck, calmed him, soothed the fear of loss and loneliness. It was different from Raleigh and it was still something he had missed so much. It was family and it was home.

“Neural bridge holding steady,” Tendo could be heard.

It was routine.

Even after such a long time, it was routine and familiar and nothing went out of alignment.

Fuck the psychologists who had tagged his father as a possible Drift risk. Fuck them for thinking that after so many neural handshakes, Hercules Hansen might lose his concentration, might be the imbalance, might break.

Herc was one of the strongest men Chuck had ever known, had ever seen, and he had Drifted with the man for six bloody years! No psychologist or analyst could look that deeply into anyone’s head without Drifting themselves. No one!

Their connections had always been strong, in sync, perfect. Always!

 

_“You know they have a point,” Herc stated calmly._

_“No! They know crap about you! About us! How can they make such a call?!”_

_“The human brain can only take so much.”_

_“Fucking lies! Dad, they have no idea what a Drift does! They’re in the dark, like everyone else! Look at the Kaidanovskys! Look at their results!”_

_“They are not us, kid.”_

_“Bloody hell no, they’re not!”_

_“We’re the only parent-child team, Chuck…”_

_Chuck felt something inside him twist, the ugly sensation of his old insecurities coming back. Father and son. Parent and child. Too many issues right there on the table. Too many conflicts for everyone to see on a daily basis._

_But that was the outside! No one knew what the two men were inside a Drift. It was intimately personal and he had never… they had never failed!_

_“Fuck them!” he spat again. “They’re not splitting us up ever! I’m not going to Drift with some other loser, because the psychos wrote those lies about us!”_

_His father’s eyes were filled with emotions they had never talked about, but Chuck knew them. From the neural handshake. He knew everything, had accepted everything, and everything else, everyone else… they could just fuck off!_

_They were partners! They were each other’s half! No one could take six years away from them! There had been no walls, just the naked truth, the unguarded soul, and Chuck had been exposed and secure in one. He had seen everything, from Herc’s deepest fears to his most empowering emotions._

_Six years were a long time with just one Drift partner._

_Aside from the Kaidanovskys, no one had that._

_Fucking no one!_

_“You’re not the weak link,” he whispered furiously. “You’re not going to fail the neural handshake! You’re not blowing the Pons!”_

_Herc briefly closed his eyes, hands balled into fists, and Chuck, in a rare display of affection, wrapped a tense arm around his father’s neck and gave him a hug that barely lasted a second._

_It was a full second longer than either of the two men had ever hugged before outside the Drift. Inside the Headspace, matters were different. Very different. And it was an emotional bond that physical reality couldn’t match._

_“You’re my co-pilot!” Chuck said fiercely. “No one’s going to take that away!”_

 

 

And then there had been Raleigh. His perceived enemy. Someone who wouldn’t take Chuck’s place, of course, but he had anyway.

Sitting at their table, eating his food! Herc had handed over his food to the new guy, the brain-damaged fuck-up from Anchorage!

Raleigh had somehow become the savior.

And Chuck had taken it very personal.

Marking his territory verbally, later physically. Telling Raleigh to stay away from Striker, to get into his old rust bucket Gipsy Danger.

Herc was his co-pilot! He, Chuck Hansen, was the best damn pilot ever!

Insecurity covered by arrogance. Issues. So many, unresolved issues.

Textbook psychological problems.

 

 

His father’s presence was there, all around him, calm and collected, the stronger of them in that regard, still not dominant.

Just like Chuck had never tried to take his old man’s place. Drifting was a partnership.

They had always been equals there.

He turned his head, meeting the blue eyes behind the visor blade, seeing so much they never put into words.

“Missed me?” Chuck now asked, voice choked up with emotions.

His head was filled with memories, the Drift pushing everything right back into the forefront, and he embraced them.

His father, his co-pilot. He had never thought about a time that it wouldn’t be like that, until after Operation Pitfall. Until Herc had become Marshall and Chuck had Drifted with Raleigh.

Raleigh wasn’t Herc Hansen. Thankfully, he wasn’t. He was different, he was someone Chuck could Drift with as easily as Herc, and still he wasn’t Herc.

“Like a kick in the nuts.”

He grinned, unable to hide the feelings. He had never hidden them within the Drift. It was how they functioned, it was what they needed, and this, this one Drop, was what both men had yearned for.

Herc’s eyes were filled with mirrored emotions, all of it between them now, out in the open.

“Hope you still know how to jockey, old man,” Chuck laughed. “I’m not gonna do all the work.”

“Watch it, smart mouth,” Herc snapped.

Their minds flowed together, warm and completely at ease with the other, perfectly in sync.

This… them…they weren’t a mistake. They fit. They were a team. Fuck, it felt oh-so right.

“Let’s go,” Chuck heard himself announce their launch.

Epic dove into the ocean, heading down to the bottom, both Hansens working smoothly, seamlessly, together.

Just like old times.

 

* * *

 

Chuck pinned Raleigh against the wall, mouths meeting in a hard kiss. Chuck was still wearing the Drivesuit’s undergarment, his hair sweat tousled, his face reflecting the happiness he felt.

“You’re welcome,” Raleigh replied, grinning, when they separated.

The slightly flushed look was adorable.

Chuck caught himself before he went down that mushy-feelings road again. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

His father was already on his way to a shower. They had been down near the Breach for six hours. A good, strong Drift. Deep, giving them the time to sort through the events of the past weeks and months, and Chuck felt lighter in a way. More at ease.

Like he always had after each Drift with his dad.

The thoughts-memories-emotions had been strong. It had been an exchange on a level Chuck had never felt before. It had healed the open wounds, had calmed his mind and soothed the waves.

Raleigh pulled him closer, the next kiss softer, deeper, exploring.

“There is no rule that says the Marshall of a Shatterdome can’t drive a Jaeger,” he murmured against Chuck’s lips.

“Oh?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“So you want to hand over your side to my old man?”

Raleigh laughed softly. “Already want to get rid of me?”

Chuck pushed back into him, against the wall, the kiss more of a bite. “Hell, no. I just got you trained.”

Raleigh pulled him even closer, the undergarment like a neoprene suit. “Trained, hm?”

“Housebroken, too.”

“Get a room, guys!”

Chuck turned his head, shooting the tech an almost lazy smile.

“And get out of the Drivesuit, Hansen,” the tech added.

“Now?”

“If it gets your rocks off.” With that the tech was gone.

Raleigh burst out laughing and Chuck buried his head against the other man’s shoulder, sharing the laughter.

Their next kiss was softer, lingering, filled with a promise.

“Got get changed,” Becket murmured, smiling. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

 

* * *

 

Chuck found the Marshall where he hadn’t really expected him: his office. Doing paperwork. He raised his brows in clear surprise and Herc’s eyes narrowed in a warning.

“Don’t.”

Chuck grinned and sprawled in one of the two chairs. Very comfortable chairs, actually, he decided. Not ones to use when you wanted to chew out your pilots, but hey, who was he to object to soft leather?

“Didn’t think you’d hole up and write reports,” he taunted.

Herc’s expression grew darker. “What do you want?”

“Just checking up on my old man.”

“Don’t call me that.”

That was an automatic reaction by now.

“Just saying,” he drawled. “After everything, wouldn’t want you to suffer from a brain bleed staring into that computer.”

Herc sighed and leaned back, gray-blue eyes now fully on his son. “What do you want, Chuck?” he asked again.

Chuck shrugged. “Was bored.”

“So go bother Raleigh.”

“He’s busy.”

“And I’m not?”

Another shrug.

Herc’s expression was blank, then a slow smile crossed his lips. Chuck shifted a little, trying not to look restless, but his father knew him like no other. They had known each other for twenty-two years now.

“You know you can still Drift, right?”

Herc regarded his son calmly. “I’m not taking Raleigh’s place. I’m the Marshall of this Shatterdome, Chuck, not an active Jaeger pilot anymore. I’m reserve.”

“You’ll always be a Jaeger pilot!” Chuck snapped, abruptly sitting forward.

He hated what he had read in those reports. He hated what some shrink had written about his dad.

“You never broke a single Drift and I trust you!”

“Chuck…”

“I would always Drift with you!” he blurted.

Herc looked thunderstruck, then scrubbed a hand through his short hair. “As would I. But I’m not the one assigned to you. I’m no longer your co-pilot.”

“I talked to Raleigh. We can have a few runs together.”

He blinked. Chuck had what? Raleigh had said what?!

“I can Drift with both of you!” Chuck added hotly.

“I’m the Marshall, Chuck.”

“So?” he demanded. “Not a reason not to Drop a few times!”

“I’m not on the active list.”

“It’s not a mission! It’s not a fight against a Kaiju, Dad!” he yelled, voice rising with anger. “It’s just… us.” He exploded out of the chair in a fit. “I thought you might appreciate it!”

Herc exhaled softly and rose quickly, stopping Chuck before he reached the door. His son’s eyes were sparking with emotions. His face was an open book, reflecting confusion and anger and something he had only ever shown when under severe stress.

Like now.

So he did the only thing he could – aside from slamming Chuck against the wall and snapping back.

He wrapped his arms around his son and hugged him tightly.

For a moment Chuck resisted, then his fingers dug into Herc’s shirt and he hugged back.

The Ghosts between them were there, remnants of the last Drop, and Herc cherished them. He loved his son. He would always Drift with him no matter what.

“I’ll always be your co-pilot, son,” Herc murmured. “Always. Nothing takes that from us. And I’ll be here for you. I love you. You’re my son.” He stepped back a little. “We don’t need the Drift. Not anymore.”

Chuck stared at him, caught.

“And it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Fuck fair!”

“You have a co-pilot. We have more than six years between us,” Herc said, cupping his son’s face with one hand. “And the last Drop.”

Chuck drew a shuddering breath, visibly fighting back his emotions. His eyes were too bright, his face a little drawn.

“I know.”

“You and Raleigh are a great team.” Herc smirked. “On and off the job.”

Now Chuck blushed despite his grimace. “Dad!”

“I won’t say no to the occasional milk run, but I’m no longer active. It has nothing to do with the psych report either.” Herc tilted his head a little. “Understood?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. We good?”

It had been a tumultuous time, with too many emotions between them, with souls bared outside the Drift, and it was something neither had experienced before.

Chuck nodded.

“Lunch?” It was a peace offering.

Chuck grinned and shrugged. “Sure. I could eat.”

“You can always eat,” Herc ribbed lightly.

They left the Marshall’s office and headed for the mess hall. Chuck felt more at ease. Very much so.

Things were good between him and Raleigh. And between him and his dad.

Yeah, life was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hadn't planned for this to become such an epic fic again. Seems like I can't do small fics in this fandom.
> 
> Anyway, I had fun. Hope you had, too. I'm working on a new part, which will be shorter. Yes, really. For sure! Why does no one believe me?!


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